ElEY 

ARY 

3ITY  or 

DRNIA 


I 


SKETCH   OF 


THE  LIFE  AND  WORK 


LINDA  GILBERT, 


WITH  STATISTICAL  REPORTS  AND  ENGRAVING 
OF  HERSELF. 


NEW     YORK: 

Printed  at  the  Industrial  School  of  the  Hebrew  Orphan  Asylum. 

seventy-sixth  street,  near  third  ave. 

1S76. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1876, 

By  LINDA  GILBERT 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


G5A9- 


DEDICATION. 


jyQ^<S(Sr^<i. 


To  you,  my  dear  friend  and  co-worker,  Leontina 
Dassi,  of  Milan,  Italy,  I  affectionately  dedicate  this 
volume,  praying  that  your  youthful  efforts  in  behalf 
of  suffering  humanity  may  be  crowned  with  deserved 
success,  and  that  you  will  not  be  called  upon  to  wear 
your  life  away,  as  others  have  done,  before  receiving 
the  proper  sympathy  and  recognition  of  your  country. 

Woman's  noble  and  self-sacrificing  work,  of  which 
we  have  seen  such  grand  results,  has  never  as  yet 
received  anything  like  its  proportionate  financial 
encouragement. 

I  hope  the  influential  gentlemen  of  Italy,  who  have 
sent  you  such  beautiful  letters  of  encouragement,  will 
not    forget    that  it    requires   more  than  sympathy  to 


4 
work  in   this  barren   field.     Their  purse,  their  hearts, 
and  thefr  willing  hands  are  needed. 

I  will  do  all  I  can  to  pave  the  way  for  your  labors, 
trusting  you  may  be  saved  the  many  discouragements 
I  have  met  with,  and  that  this  little  volume  may 
awaken  an  interest  which  shall  tend  to  lighten  the 
labors  of  all  who  are  striving  to  remedy  the  defects  in 
our  present  system  of  treating  criminals. 

With  affectionate  regard,  I  am 

Sincerely  your  friend, 

Linda  Gilbert. 


IHTRODUCTION. 

The  following  pages  will  be  found  to  contain  a  shoft 
sketch  of  the  life  and  the  life-work  of  a  noble  woman 
who  has  devoted  her  time  and  means  to  the  reclama- 
tion of  the  outcasts  of  society.  A  few  extracts  and 
letters  relating  to  the  subject,  or  illustrating  the  suc- 
cess to  be  attained  in  pursuit  of  it,  have  likewise 
been  added.  They  are  earnestly  recommended  to  the 
perusal  of  all  classes  of  society :  to  the  philanthropist, 
as  bearing  pre-eminently  on  the  objects  he  has  most 
at  heart ;  to  the  community  at  large,  as  showing  them 
the  only  legitimate  way  of  protecting  their  persons 
and  property  ;  and  to  the  criminal  classes,  as  proving 
to  them  that  the  teachings  of  religion  are  not  only 
professional,  but  also  practical — that  they  will  not  be 
mercilessly  hunted  down  ;  that  they  have  friends  who 
are  willing  to  extend  a  helping  hand  to  those  who 
have  fallen,  and  lead  them  onward  in  the  right  path. 

Let  all  those  who  .read  this  little  book  strive  to 
secure  and  firmly  establish  the  good  work  now  lan- 
guishing for  want  of  means ;  let  the  stirring  appeal  go 
forth  among  the  people  ;  let  the  clergy  and  press  rouse 
the  slumbering  sympathies  of  the  community ;  let  the 
legislative  bodies  appropriate  money  to  a  purpose  than 
which  they  could  find  no  nobler  one — for  is  it  not  better 


to  apply  the  appropriations,  now  used  for  the  punish- 
ment of  criminals,  to  their  moral  elevation  ? 

When  Miss  Gilbert's  work  will  be  carried  on  in  her 
spirit,  to  its  fullest  extent,  then,  and  not  till  then,  will 
we  have  progressed  one  step  in  the  right  direction — a 
step  which  will  ultimately  lead  to  the  thorough  com- 
prehension of  the  great  evils  lying  at  the  root  of  our 
civilization — crime  and  pauperism.  Then  and  only 
then  will  it  be  possible  to  go  farther  and  farther,  till 
we  finally  reach  the  problem  of  the  greatest  magnitude, 
thus  far  all  but  inaccessible — Prevention. 

The  gentlemen  of  the  press,  who  have  often  already 
shown  their  zeal  in  the  good  cause  by  publishing  some 
of  the  successes  achieved  by  Miss  Gilbert  (who  begs  to 
tender  her  thanks)  will  do  much  to  further  her  objects 
by  giving  this  little  book  some  notice  that  will  help  to 
interest  the  public  in  its  aims. 

In  most  cases,  where  extracts  have  been  made,  due 
credit  has  been  given  ;  where  this  has  not  been  done, 
it  should  be  attributed  to  oversight  rather  than  inten- 
tional slight. 

I.  R 


New  Yo7^k,  May,  1876. 


SKETCH  OF  THE  LIFE  AND  WORK 


OF 


LINDA   GILBERT. 


The  work  of  improving  the  mental  and  moral  condition  of  the 
criminally  unfortunate  classes  of  society  is  one  which  is  of  compara- 
tively recent  birth,  and  which  counts  its  missionary  apostles  only  by 
units.  Yet  it  is  a  work  second  to  no  philanthropical  labor,  in  its 
importance  and  beneficial  results  to  the  human  family,  since  the 
advent  of  the  Saviour  upon  earth.  In  a  humbler  fashion  it  follows 
in  his  footsteps,  and  addresses  itself  to  the  most  uncared  for  and 
misguided  portion  of  mankind — a  portion  which  he  himself  recog- 
nized as  peculiar  objects  of  his  Divine  Pity,  when  he  proclaimed 
that  he  came  not  to  call  the  righteous,  "  but  sinYiers  to  repentance." 

Linda  Gilbert  was  born  in  New  York,  but  her  parents  removed  to 
Chicago  when  she  was  little  more  than  four  years  of  age.  Her  home 
was  opposite  the  old  brick  prison  in  that  city,  and  when  she  com- 
menced her  education,  she  had  to  pass  it  daily  upon  her  way  to 
school.  Unlike  the  remainder  of  her  school-mates,  who  would  not 
unnaturally  run  past  it,  frightened  by  the  hardenxj/i  and  dark  coun- 
tenances which  glared  upon  them  through  its  barred  windows ;  when 
no  more  than  ten  years  of  age,  she  would  pause  with  a  word  of  pity, 
or  a  childish  glance  of  tenderness,  at  those  confined  within  its  walls 
— the  more  touching,  because  these  were  so  rarely  offered  them. 


One  morning,  as  she  was  passing,  a  face  which  she  had  several 
times  seen  through  the  grating,  looked  at  her  earnestly,  and  the 
man  to  whom  it  belonged  beckoned  to  her  to  stop.  Without  hesi- 
tation the  child  did  so.  He  was* a  man  already  past  middle  age. 
His  countenance  struck  her  as  being  noble  and  intelligent,  while  his 
hair  and  beard  were  white.  This  man  requested  her  to  show  him 
her  school-books.  Fearlessly  she  handed  them  to  him  through  the 
bars.  When  he  returned  them  to  her,  his  eyes  were  wet,  while  he 
complimented  her  upon  her  intelligence.  Then,  after  a  brief  pause, 
he  besought  her,  if  possible,  to  bring  him  something  to  read.  She 
promised  him  to  do  so,  and  then  went  more  slowly  than  usual  upon 
her  way  to  school.  In  spite  of  her  childish  years,  she  had  begun  to 
reahze  the  suffering  of  that  starvation  of  intellect  to  which  prisoners 
were  then  inevitably  doomed  while  waiting  for  trial. 

The  impression  thus  made  upon  her  mind  she  carried  heavily 
from  day  to  day.  At  length  she  asked,  "  Father,  are  the  people 
who  write  books  all  good  people  .'*"  "  I  think  they  are  generally  so," 
answered  the  father.  "  Won't  they  let  naughty  people  read  them  .?" 
"  Why,  dear  ?"  "  Because,  father,  the  old  man  in  the  prison  has 
done  something  naughty,  ai\d  they  won't  give  him  any  books  to 
read.  I  want  to  take  him  one.  Why  don't  they  let  him  have  sun- 
shine ?"  "  He  is  in  prison,  dear."  "  But  the  sun  shines  on  all  the 
animals;  don't  God  love  naughty  people  at  all  ?  Won't  he  even  1-et 
the  sun  shine  upon  them ;  wouldn't  it  make  them  better  ?"  To 
these  questions,  the  father  was  mute.  Waiting  to  think  of  a  fitting 
answer  to  the  first,  he  was  interrupted  by  the  second  question,  and 
felt  that  his  little  girl  had  a  sympathy  for  those  who  had  sinned, 
which  he  had  neither  the  power  nor  desire  to  rebuke.  He  went  to 
his  library,  and  selecting  such  a  work  as  he  thought  adapted  to  the 
old  man,  he  gave  it  to  his  little  child  to  take  to  the  prison.  Thus, 
week  after  week,  the  child  continued  her  mission  to  the  cell,  and 
every  Sunday  took  the  prisoner  some  book  from  her  father's  library. 
At  length  there  carhe  a  messenger  to  the  father,  that  the  old  man  was 
dying  and  begged  to  see  the  little  girl  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him. 
They  went  together,  and  were  admitted  to  the  cell  of  the  dying 
man.  There  for  the  first  time  the  child  saw  the  old  man  face  to 
face.     There  for  the  first  time  she  saw  the  gloomy  cell,  and  stood 


in  the  awful  presence  of  death.  She  heard  the  tones  of  gratitude 
almost  stifled  by  the  depth  of  feeling,  as  he  said,  "  Little  girl,  you 
have  saved  my  soul ;  promise  me  that  you  will  do  all  your  life  for 
the  poor  people  in  prison  what  you  have  done  for  me."  Scarcely 
had  she  sobbed  out  her  promise,  when  he  convulsively  let  fall  her 
hand  from  his,  and  fell  back  upon  his  pillow. 

Never  before  had  the  child  been  so  deeply  impressed,  and  the 
promise  she  had  made  rang  in  her  ear  with  the  solemnity  of  an  oath. 
Thus  was  the  life-work  of  Linda  Gilbert  determined,  at  twelve  years 
of  age.  No  earthly  ambition  was  sufficient  to  tempt  her  from  the 
prescribed  course.  She  thought  long  and  deeply  on  the  question  of 
punishment,  and  upon  the  condition  of  the  condemned,  and  resolved 
to  devote  her  life  to  making  prisons  reformatory  ;  and  to  this  all  her 
efforts  and  resources  were  devoted.  Many  a  curious  and  stirring 
incident  has  given  interest  to  her  work,  and  many  an  erring  life  has 
been  led  into  well-directed  ways,  through  her  influence.  Her  name 
spread  through  the  ranks  of  the  wicked.  Many  a  man,  who  had 
felt  her  kindness  in  his  sorest  need,  would  have  risked  his  life  in  her 
service. 

The  woman  has  since  that  period  richly  responded  to  the  promise 
of  her  childhood.  She  has  no  maudlin  weakness  or  timid  hesi- 
tation in  the  work  which  had  thus  been  placed  before  her.  Her 
sphere  of  labor  is  within  the  stone  walls  of  the  prison.  She  visits, 
talks  with,  and  reads  with  their  inmates,  and  continues  her  work 
even  when  they  are  released,  having  found  employment  for  many 
hundreds  of  them,  few  of  whom  have  proved  themselves  unworthy 
of  her  kindness.  ^ 

Hundreds  of  released  prisoners  have  called  on  Miss  Gilbert, 
without  the  means  to  procure  even  a  night's  lodging.  Few  of  these 
has  she  ever  suffered  to  depart  without  assistance.  Money,  cloth- 
ing, shelter,  and  employment  have  been  offered,  and  rarely  received 
without  heartfelt  gratitude. 

If  her  labors  had  ended  here,  it  would  have  seemed  sufficient  for 
a  worthy  life.  But  the  Prison  Missionary  felt  that,  when  she  had 
ceased  to  labor,  none  might  be  left  to  carry  on  the  work  she  had 
begun.  She,  therefore,  recognized  the  necessity  of  making  her  cha- 
ritable work,  as  far  as  possible,  a  lasting  benefit  to  prisoners. 


This  conviction  led  to  her  organization  and  establishment  of  the 
first  County  Jail  Library  in  Chicago.  It  was  composed  of  four  thou- 
sand volumes  of  miscellaneous  and  healthy  reading,  numerous  good 
oil  paintings,  as  well  as  an  organ  to  be  used  for  Divine  Service. 
The  gratitude  with  which  this  work  was  received  by  the  prisoners, 
and  the  healthy  improvement  it  produced  in  their  minds — an 
improvement  to  which  the  prison  officials  give  ample  testimony — 
proved  an  abundant  reward,  and  encouraged  her  to  persevere  in 
other  localities.  In  the  St.  Louis  County  Jail  she  formed,  by  her 
exertions,  with  the  help  of  others  whose  zeal  she  had  awakened,  a 
library  of  two  thousand  volumes.  Another  library  was  formed  for 
Sangamond  County  Jail,  111.  Thousands  of  volumes  have  been  sent 
by  her  to  different  county  and  city  jails  in  her  native  State.  Lat- 
terly, she  has  been  engaged  in  the  same  noble  work  in  our  own  city. 
Here  she  has  formed  a  library  in  the  Tombs,  in  the  House  of  Deten- 
tion, and  Ludlow  Street  Jail,  and  through  her  influence  a  library 
has  been  placed  in  several  other  institutions.  As  soon  as  her  work 
is  endowed,  she  intends  to  organize  a  permanent  Bureau  of  Em- 
ployment for  Released  Prisoners,  and  extend  the  library  work  into 
different  prisons  in  the  country. 

But  while  she  confined  her  labors  to  her  own  State,  her  own  indi- 
vidual means,  with  the  assistance  of  the  friends  whom  she  had 
awakened  to  her  work,  were  ample. 

In  continuing  it,  as  she  proposes  doing,  her  work  is  incalculably 
more  extensive,  and  more  than  friendly  assistance  is  required  to 
carry  it  through.  For  this  work  is  no  sectarian  one.  It  appeals  to 
every  benevolent  as  well  as  to  every  practical  mind.  It  addresses 
itself  to  the  task  of  drawing  criminal  humanity  from  the  slough  of 
ignorance  which  is  too  often  the  plentiful  parent  of  continuous  sin. 
It  endeavors  to  redeem  society  from  the  continuance  and  increase 
of  crime.  Hence  this  appeal  to  thousands  who  only  require  it  to  be 
made,  in  support  of  the  labors  of  one  who  has  devoted  many  years 
of  her  life  and  the  best  part  of  her  individual  means  to  her  self- 
sacrificing  toil.  That  it  will  be  amply  responded  to,  can  be  open 
to  no  doubt  from  those  who  know  the  readiness  of  the  people 
to  support  all  such  toil  and  exertion,  when  the  case  has  once  been 
fairly  and  fully  laid  before  them. 


II 


INDUSTRY   IN    PRISONS. 

The  following  article  was  written  by  Miss  Gilbert  for  Frank 
Leslie  s  Illustrated  Newspaper. 

While  visiting  Ludlow  Street  Jail  a  few  months  ago,  I  was  espe- 
cially struck  with  the  necessity  of  active  employment,  while  consid- 
ering the  great  capacity  of  many  of  the  characters  there  incarcer- 
ated. This  brought  to  mind  some  grave  facts  concerning  the  system 
of  labor  in  our  county  prisons,  and  which  it  will  be  well  to  keep 
before  the  public. 

It  is  not  generally  known  that  there  is  no  well-organized  plan  of 
labor,  whereby  men  with  active  minds  can  be  kept  employed  in 
these  institutions.  Idleness  is  the  door  of  crime,  and  men  should  be ' 
ashamed  to  cage  their  fellow-men  like  brutes,  giving  them  no  chance 
for  improvement,  mentally  or  morally.  Punishment  should  have 
for  its  object  a  twofold  purpose.  First,  the  protection  of  society; 
and,  second,  the  reformation  of  the  offender. 

Can  men  be  made  better  by  being  crowded  into  cells  where  three 
or  four  pairs  of  lungs  are  forced  to  breathe  the  same  air  until  they 
are  diseased,  with  no  mental  food  or  work .?  Does  society  protect 
itself  by  shutting  up  its  weakest  members  for  a  time  in  this  manner, 
and  then  releasing  them  with  their  moral  wounds  festering  to  cor- 
ruption }     No  !  ten  thousand  times  no. 

The  morally  diseased  portion  of  our  community  should  be  treated 
with  as  much  skill  as  the  physically  diseased. 

What  would  be  thought  of  a  city  which  not  only  allowed,  but 
indorsed  the  erection  of  a  building  in  the  most  unhealthy  location 
that  could  be  found,  into  which  men,  women,  and  children  who  were 
physically  diseased  were  to  be  thrust,  irrespective  of  age  or  malady 
with  no  doctors,  no  medicine,  no  health-giving  atmosphere,  but 
only  sickly  odors  and  deadly  infection  around  them  } 

Such  a  Upas  of  corruption  would   not  be  allowed  even  amidst 
barbarians ;  and  yet,  in  every  city  in  this  Union,  are  moral  charnel- 
houses,  ten  times  more  fearful  in  their  influence  than  such  physical 
pest-houses  could  be ;  and  we  refuse  to  acknowledge  the  degradation. 
"  So  much  a  long  communion  tends 
To  make  us  what  we  are." 


12 

The  model  prison  in  Germany  is  in  Bavaria.  The  superintendent 
rules  by  kindness,  and  the  prisoners  are  urged  to  industry  by 
rewards. 

Every  prison  in  the  United  States  should  have  over  its  door, 
"Educational  and  Industrial  Reformatory." 

There  should  be  no  long  sentences  for  first  offences,  nor  repeated 
short  ones.  Every  imtrderer  should  be  sentenced  to  support  the 
family  he  has  deprived  of  support. 

Every  county  and  city  as  well  as  State  prison  should  be  self-sus- 
taining. Each  prisoner  should  be  allowed  an  opportunity  to  engage 
in  some  employment,  even  while  awaiting  the  motion  of  the  courts ; 
and  twenty  cents  of  every  dollar  he  earns  should  go  to  his  starving 
family.  This  would  prcive  an  industrial  tonic,  the  power  of  which 
few  criminal  physicians  understand. 

Criminals  should  be  graded  according  to  nature  and  degree  of 
crime. 

Every  prison  and  jail  should  be  supplied  with  suitable  libraries. 
Night-schools  should  be  established.  Prisoners  should  be  com- 
pelled to  keep  clean.  Soap  and  water  are  powerful  reformers,  and 
as  conducive  to  moral  as  physical  health.  Every  State  should  have 
an  asylum  as  well  as  prison  ;  a  home,  where  weak  members  of  God's 
family  may  become  strong,  to  fight  life's  battles  honestly. 


EFFECT   OF   KIND   WORDS. 

In  the  days  of  the  panic  in  Chicago,  a  gentleman  drew  from  the 
bank  a  large  sum  of  money,  and  secreted  it  in  his  house,  before  leav- 
ing town  for  a  few  days.  There  were  a  few  suspicious-looking  men 
lurking  about  the  house,  and  the  wife,  now  left  in  charge,  became 
alarmed,  lest  the  fact  of  concealing  the  money  had  become  known. 
As  there  was  no  one  but  a  servant  girl  with  her,  she  questioned  with 
anxiety  what  was  the  best  thing  to  be  done.  In  this  emergency 
she  sent  for  her  friend.  Miss  Gilbert,  as  one  knowing  most  about 
such  things.  Miss  Gilbert  was  known  by  this  class  of  people  so 
well,  she  rightly  judged,  that  if  the  men  who  were  watching  about 
the  house  should  see  her,  they  might  respect  the  premises.     During 


the  night  tliere  was  a  sound  of  some  one  opening  the  door.  Miss 
Gilbert  went  to  the  shutter  of  a  window  opening  on  the  same  piazza 
as  the  door,  and  inquired  who  was  there  and  what  was  wanted. 
"I've  come  to  get  some  supper,"  replied  a  voice  on  the  outside. 
"No,  you  have  not,"  rejoined  Miss  Gilbert;  "what  drove  you  to 
this  fearful  life  .'*"  This  was  a  question  familiar  to  all  whom  she  had 
visited  in  the  prison  cell,  and  the  man  recognized  the  voice.  "  Is  it 
Miss  Gilbert .?"  "  Yes."  "  Do  you  live  here  ?"  "  No,  I  am  visiting." 
Then  followed  a  long  conversation,  in  which  she  appealed  to  his 
better  nature  to  desist  from  his  purpose.  He  had  been  released 
for  three  weeks  from  the  county  jail,  had  vainly  applied  for  work, 
had  neither  a  trade  nor  education,  could  do  nothing  as  well  as 
stealing,  had  subsisted  on  scraps  of  garbage  on  the  side-walks  or  in 
barrels,  and  had  slept  wherever  a  corner  might  give  him  shelter. 
Miss  Gilbert  pushed  a  five-dollar  bill  beneath  the  shutter  to  him, 
told  him  to  get  supper  and  lodging,  to  come  to  her  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  that  she  would  get  him  a  situation.  He  bade  her  good-by, 
promising  to  see  her  in  the  morning,  and  to  lead  a  good  life  for  the 
future.  After  he  had  left,  the  ladies  looked  from  the  window,  and 
saw  this  man,  standing  with  a  hand  on  each  gate-post,  contending 
with  six  other  men,  who  at  length  yielded  to  his  will  and  left  the 
place.  On  the  following  day.  Miss  Gilbert  was  waiting  on  the 
piazza  of  her  own  house,  when  a  ragged  vagrant  approached.  She 
went  to  the  gate,  shook  hands  with  him,  and  asked  if  he  held  to  his 
promise.  He  said  he  would  try  to.  "That  is  riot  the  word  I 
want,"  she  replied;  "say  that  you  wi7/."  After  a  struggle  he 
repeated  her  word — he  would.  She  then  gave  him  his  breakfast, 
and  left  him  on  the  piazza,  while  she  went  to  the  relief  society  to 
get  him  a  suit  of  clothes.  She  found  that  this  gift  quite  subdued 
his  nature,  and  that  he  was  then  quite  under  her  control.  She  gave 
him  money  for  a  bath  and  to  get  shaved.  "  Go,"  said  she,  "  and  when 
you  come  back,  walk  straight,  hold  your  head  up,  and  look  more 
confident  in  yourself."  On  his  return,  she  went  with  him  to  the 
Inebriate  Asylum  and  paid  for  a  week's  board  for  him  there,  while 
she  was  looking  for  a  place  of  employment. 

It  was  no  easy  task  to  find  this.     People  are  chary  of  employing 
a  "jail  bird,"  and  one  does  not  feel  pleasant  in  recommending  him. 


14 

On  this  occasion,  however,  an  opportunity  presented  itself  in  the  fol- 
lowing manner.  A  farmer  in  Loselle  County,  Illinois,  required  four 
farm  hands.  He  was  a  good  Methodist,  and  his  family  were  generous 
and  kind  to  their  employees.  Miss  Gilbert  knew  of  two  other  men 
who  wished  the  situation ;  one  a  good  experienced  farmer  and  prac- 
tical Christian.  To  him  alone  she  confided  the  story  of  her  protege, 
told  him  of  the  trials  of  the  man's  past  life,  of  his  resolves  for  the 
future,  of  his  experience  in  work  or  honest  employment,  of  the 
necessity  of  giving  him  encouragement  and  counsel.  Above  all  she 
begged  of  him  to  keep  all  this  secret,  even  from  the  man  himself. 

It  is  five  years  since  then.  Faithfully  has  that  good  Christian 
man  done  his  part.  No  word  has  ever  passed  his  lips  to  criminate 
his  fellow-worker,  and  he  has  treated  him  as  a  brother.  Having 
prospered  in  worldly  good,  he  is  now  proprietor  of  a  large  farm.  As 
for  the  subject  of  our  story,  he  remains  still  upon  the  original  farm,  and 
has  proved  one  of  the  best  workmen  the  proprietor  has  ever  employed. 
The  same  county  had  been  the  scene  of  nearly  ten  years — with 
short  intervals — of  prison  life,  and  these  five  years  of  honest  work. 
He  has  married,  and  is  in  all  respects  now  thoroughly  reliable ;  he 
has  learned  to  read,  but  has  still  to  dictate  his  letters  of  gratitude  to 
Miss  Gilbert.  This  case  proves  that  the  most  confirmed  cases  may 
be  reformed  with  practical  influences. 


SHOULD  "JAIL  BIRDS"  BE  HUNTED  DOWN.? 

The   following   individual   case   well   illustrates    the    difficulties 
attending  the  reformation  of  the  criminal,  however  anxious  or  willing 
he    may  be    to    do    right,  and   offers    a  complete    solution   to   the 
question,  "Why  is  the  criminal  so  seldom  reclaimed.?" 
From  the  "  Chicago  Tribune" 

A  youth  of  sixteen  years  of  age  had  been,  for  some  offence,  com- 
mitted to  jail.  At  the  time  of  his  discharge.  Miss  Gilbert,  as  is  cus- 
tomary with  her,  counselled  him  to  try  to  be  good,  assured  him  of 
her  sympathy,  and  that  all  good  people  would  aid  him.  He  left, 
promising  good  behavior,  evidently  intending  to  seek  employment 


15 

and  follow  the  advice  of  his  new  friend.  Soon  after  this,  Miss 
Gilbert,  still  following  him  with  her  sympathy,  found  him  at  a  cheap 
boarding-house  where  he  had  secured  lodgings,  and  entered  into 
friendly  converse  with  him.  This  had  been  observed  by  the  keeper 
of  the  house,  and  after  Miss  G.  left  (being  well  known  as  connected 
with  the  work  of  prison  reform),  he  asked  the  boy  if  he  were  a  "jail 
bird,"  adding,  "  If  you  are,  leave  my  house  at  once."  No  explanation 
or  promise  of  future  good  conduct  availed,  and  back  to  Miss  Gilbert 
he  came  with  his  pitiful  story,  closing  the  recital  by  saying,  "  There 
is  no  use  in  my  trying  to  be  good ;  nobody  will  help  me ;  all  are 
against  me." 

Determined  that  the  good  work  of  reformation  just  begun  should 
not  come  to  naught,  his  kind  benefactress  paid  from  her  own  pocket 
for  two  weeks'  board  for  the  boy,  at  the  end  of  which  time  she  found 
him  employment. 

"  When  will  the  people  of  this  Christian  land  learn  the  wisdom  of 
pursuing  such  a  course  of  treatment  toward  our  criminals  as  shall 
make  them  better,  instead  of  sinking  them  lower  into  crime  and 
degradation.?" 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe, 

To  hide  the  faults  I  see  ; 
What  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 


JAMES    WILSON'S    WILL. 

Written  by  Miss  Gilbert  from  notes  taken  in  James  Wilson's  Cell, 
just  before  his  execution. 

I  wish  it  were  in  my  power  to  call  the  attention  of  the  legislative 
bodies  and  prison  authorities  throughout  the  United  States  to  the 
tone  and  drift  of  this  criminal's  last  bequest. 

HIS    LAST    WILL    AND    TESTAMENT. 

James  Wilson  gave  his  body  to  the  Medical  College  at  New  Haven, 
to  be  used  for  the  advancement  of  science,  provided  they  would 
employ  competent  counsel  to  solicit  the  Legislature  of  the  State  to 
pass  certain  laws  for  the  better  and  more  Christian  government  of 
the  prisons  of  the  State. 


i6 

Firsts  he  wishes  the  officers  of  the  State  prison  to  be  restrained 
from  kicking  and  striking,  or  otherwise  abusing  any  of  the  prisoners, 
except  in  self-defence,  under  the  penalty  of  dismissal,  trial,  and 
conviction  to  imprisonment  for  three  months  in  the  county  jail  for 
such  violation  of  duty. 

Secondly^  that  the  punishment  of  the  lash  and  shower-bath  should 
be  abolished.  That  the  only  punishment  allowed  to  be  inflicted 
should  be  confinement  in  a  dark  cell  on  bread  and  water,  unless 
for  the  attempt  to  escape,  in  which  case  the  offender  may  be  com- 
pelled to  wear  the  ball  and  chain.  This,  however,  should  be  in  no 
case  for  a  longer  period  than  one  month  for  each  offence,  and  as 
the  dark  cells  are  unfurnished,  they  must  in  every  case  have  board 
floors,  be  kept  clean  and  properly  warmed. 

Thirdly^  he  requires  that  the  directors  should  visit  the  State  prison 
between  the  first  and  fourth  of  every  month,  make  its  entire  round, 
and  unaccompanied  by  any  officer  of  the  prison;  they  shall  see 
each  prisoner,  and  give  him  a  chance  to  speak  of  the  food,  treatment, 
or  punishment  he  has  received  or  experienced.  That  in  making 
their  annual  report,  they  state  all  infractions  of  prison-discipline,  with 
the  specific  punishment  for  each  offence,  without  mentioning  the 
names  of  the  prisoners. 

Fourthly^  that  in  this  annual  report  they  shall  give  a  full  statement 
of  the  income  and  expenses  of  the  prison,  also  seeing  that  the  pay  of 
the  officials  shall  be  sufficient  to  secure  intelligent  and  competent 
men. 

An  officer  of  a  prison  who  considers  himself  at  liberty  to  strike, 
kick,  or  physically  maltreat,  whether  for  personal  insolence  or  in- 
subordination, commits  an  offence  for  which,  beyond  the  walls  of 
the  prison,  he  himself  would  be  amenable  to  imprisonment  or  fine. 

Has  a  criminal  no  rights  1 

If  he  can  be  kicked  or  beaten,  by  those  in  charge  of  him,  for  one 
degree  of  insubordination,  why  not  with  a  crowbar  smash  his  skull 
for  a  greater  offence.^  The  difference  is  merely  one  of  degree. 
Again,  in  outside  life  the  lash  is  only  used  for  animals ;  it  renders 
even  them  more  brutal.  As  for  the  constant  use  of  the  shower- 
bath,  we  all  know  that  in  time  it  destroys  the  mind. 

With  regard  to  the   duties  of  the  directors,  we  should  trust  that 


^7 

the  mere  hint,  given  them  by  one  who  has  already  passed  beyond  the 
confines  of  the  grave,  would  be  sufficient. 

Wilson  has  told  the  Legislature  some  things  they  will  do  well  to 
listen  to,  and  w^hatever  his  crimes  (for  which  he  has  paid  the  utmost 
penalty)  may  have  been,  I  honestly  believe  a  man  of  his  intelli- 
gence— had  not  his  earliest  experience  of  prison  life  been  purely 
penal  rather  than  reformatory — would  have  ultimately  graduated  in 
a  better  college  than  that,  whose  last  degree  is  the  gallows. 

Judge  not  the  working  of  the  brain  and  of  the  heart  thou  canst 
not  see.  If  the  veil  from  the  heart  could  be  torn,  and  the  mind 
could  be  read  on  tli^e  brow,  there  are  many  whom  we  now  condemn, 
we  would  pass  by  with  pity. 


ONE    DAY   SOLITARY. 

I  AM  all  right !     Good-by,  old  chap  ! 

Twenty-four  hours,  that  won't  be  long. 
Nothing  to  do  but  take  a  nap, 

And — say  !  can  a  fellow  sing  a  song  ? 
Will  the  light  fantastic  be  in  order, — 

A  pigeon-wing  on  your  pantry  floor? 
What  are  the  rules  for  a  regular  boarder  ? 

Be  quiet  ?     All  right  !  —  Cling  Clang  goes  the  door  ! 

Clang  Clink,  the  bolts  '  and  I  am  locked  in. 

Some  pious  reflection  and  repentance 
Come  next,  I  suppose,  for  I  just  begin 

To  perceive  the  sting  in  the  tail  of  my  sentence — 
"  One  day  whereof  shall  be  solitary." 

Here  I  am  at  the  end  of  my  journey. 
And — well,  it  ain't  jolly,  not  so  very  i  — 

I'd  like  to  throttle  that  sharp  attorney  ! 

He  took  my  money,  the  very  last  dollar, — 

Didn't  leave  me  so  much  as  a  dime. 
Not  enough  to  buy  me  a  paper  collar 

To  wear  at  my  trial . — he  knew  all  the  time 
'Twas  some  that  I  got  for  the  stolen  silver  ! 

Why  hasn't  he  been  indicted  too  ? 


If  he  doesn't  exactly  rob  and  pilfer, 

He  lives  by  the  plundei  of  them  that  do. 

Then  didn't  it  put  me  into  a  fury 

To  see  him  otep  up,  and  laugh  and  chat 
With  the  county  attorney,  and  joke  with  the  jury, 

When  all  was  over,-r-tlien  go  for  his  hat, — 
While  Sue  was  sobbing  to  break  her  heart, 

vVnd  all  I  could  do  was  to  stand  and  stare  ! 
He  had  pleaded  my  cause, — ^he  had  played  his  part 

And  got  his  fee, — and  what  more  did  he  care  ? 

It's  droll  to  think  how,  just  out  yonder. 

The  world  goes  jogging  on  the  same  ' 
Old  men  will  save  and  boys  will  squander. 

And  fellows  will  play  at  the  same  old  game 
Of  get-and-spend, — to-morrow,  next  year, — . 

And  drink  and  carouse, — and  who  will  there  he' 
To  remember  a  comrade  buried  here? 

I  am  nothing  to  them,  they  arc  nothing  to  me  ! 

And  Sue, — yes,  she  will  forget  me  too  ! 

I  know  !  already  her  tears  are  drying. 
I  believe  there  is  nothing  that  girl  can  do 

So  easy  as  laughing  and  lying  and  crying. 
She  clung  to  me  well  while  there  was  hope, 

Then  broke  her  heart  in  that  last  wild  sob  ; — 
But  she  ain't  going  to  sit  and  mope 

While  I  am  at  work  on  a  five  years'  job. 

They'll  set  me  to  learning  a  trade,  no  doubt ; 

And  I  must  forget  to  speak  or  smile. 
I  shall  go  marching  in  and  out, 

One  of  a  silent,  tramping  file 
Of  felons,  at  morning  and  noon  and  night, — 

Just  down  to  the  shops  and  back  to  the  cells, — 
And  work  with  a  thief  at  left  and  right. 

And  feed  and  sleep — nothing  else  ! 

Was  I  born  for  this  ?     Will  the  old  folks  know  ? 

I  can  see  them  now  on  the  old  home  place  : 
His  gait  is  feeble,  his  step  is  slow. 

There's  a  settled  grief  in  his  furrowed  face  ; 
While  she  goes  wearily  groping  about 


19 


In  a  sort  of  dream,  so  bent,  so  sad  ! — 
But  this  won't  do  !     I  must  sing  and  shout, 
And  forget  myself,  or  else  go  mad. 

I  won't  be  foolish  ;  although,  for  a  minute, 

I  was  there  in  my  little  room  once  more. 
What  wouldn't  I  give  just  no.w  to  be  in  it  ? 

The  bed  is  yonder,  and  there  is  the  door  ; 
The  Bible  is  here  on  the  neat  white  stand : 

The  summer-sweets  are  ripening  now  ; 
In  the  flickering  light  I  reach  my  hand 

From  the  window,  and  pluck  them  from  the  bough  ! 

When  I  was  a  child  (Oh,  well  for  me 

And  them  if  I  h*ad  never  been  older  !) 
When  he  told  me  stories  on  his  knee. 

And  lossed  me,  and  carried  me  on  his  shoulder  ; 
When  she  knelt  down  and  heard  my  prayer, 

And  gave  me  in  bed  my  good-night  kiss, — 
Did  ever  they  think  that  all  their  care 

For  an  only  son  could  come  to  this  ? 

Foolish  again  !     No  sense  in  tears 

And  gnashing  the  teeth  !     And  yet — somehow — 
I  haven't  thought  of  them  so  for  years  ! 

I  never  knew  them,  I  think,  till  now. 
How  fondly,  how  blindly  they  trusted  me  ! 

When  I  should  have  been  in  my  bed  asleep, 
I  slipped  from  the  window,  and  down  the  tree. 

And  sowed  for  the  harvest  which  now  I  reap. 

And  Jennie, — how  could  I  bear  to  leave  her  ? 

If  I  had  but  wished — but  I  was  a  fool ! 
M^y  heart  was  filled  with  a  thirst  and  fever 

Which  no  sweet  airs  of  heaven  could  cool. 
I  can  hear  her  asking, — "  Have  you  heard  ?" 

But  mother  falters,  and  shakes  her  head : 
"  O  Jennie  !  Jennie  !  never  a  word  ! 

What  can  it  mean  ?     He  must  be  dead  !•" 

Light-hearted,  a  proud,  ambitious  lad, 

I  left  my  home  that  morning  in  May  ; 
What  visions,  what  hopes,  what  plans  I  had  ! 

And  what  have  I — where  are  they  all — to-day  ? 


Wild  fellows,  and  wine,  and  debts,  and  gaming, 

Disgrace,  and  the  loss  of  place  and  friend, — 
And  I  was  an  outlaw,  past  reclaiming ; 

Arrest  an^  sentence,  and — this  is  the  end  ! 

Five  years  !     Shall  ever  I  quit  this  prison  ? 

Homeless  an  outcast,  where  shall  I  go  ? 
Return  to  them,  like  one  arisen 

From  the  grave,  that  was  buried  long  ago  ? 
All  is  still, — it's  the  close  of  the  week  ; 

I  slink  through  the  garden,  I  stop  by  the  well — 
I  sec  him  totter,  I  hear  her  shriek  ! — 

What  sort  of  a  tale  will  I  have  to  tell? 

But  here  I  am  !     What's  the  use  of  grieving? 

Five  years — will  it  be  too  late  to  begin  ? 
Can  sober  thinking  and  honest  living 

Still  make  me  the  man  I  might  have  l:)een  ? — 
I'll  sleep  ; — Oh,  would  I  could  wake  to-morrow 

In  that  old  room,  to  find,  at  last. 
That  all  my  trouble  and  all  their  sorrow 

Are  only  a  dream  of  the  night  that  is  past ' 

Atlantic  Monthly. — J.  T.  Trowbridge. 


SELF-TOLD    HISTORY    OF    A     REFORMED    PRISONER. 

The  following  letter,  taken  from  the  New  York  Prisoner  s  Friend., 
exj^lains  itself. 

[We  are  able  to  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this  narrative  in  every  par- 
ticular. The  letter  is  a  real  epistle,  written  from  one  who  had  been 
in  the  State  prison  to  one  who  was  at  the  time  of  writing  still  an 
inmate.  We  have  simply  changed  all  names,  in  order  to  avoid  the 
possibility  of  a  recognition  of  the  parties.] 

Friend  Tom,  if  i  utiay  call  you  so,  i  know  you  are  surprized  to 
get  a  letter  from  me,  but  i  hope  you  wont  be  mad  at  my  writing  to 
you.  I  want  to  tell  you  my  thanks  for  the  way  you  talked  to  me 
when  i  was  in  prison,  it  has  led  me  to  be  a  better  man.  I  guess  you 
thought  I  did  not  cair  for  what  you  said,  &  at  the  first  go  off  i  didn't. 


21 


but  i  noed  you  was  a  man  who  had  don  big  work  with  good  men,  & 
want  no  Sucker,  nor  want  gasing,  &  all  the  boys  knod  it. 

I  used  to  think  at  nite  what  you  said,  &  for  it  i  knocked  off 
swearing  5  months  before  my  time  was  up,  for  I  saw  it  want  no 
good  nohow — the  day  my  time  was  up  you  told  me  if  i  would  shake 
the  cross  [quit  stealing]  &  live  on  the  square  for  three  months  it 
would  be  the  best  job  i  ever  done  in  my  life.  The  state  agent  give 
me  a  ticket  to  here,  &  on  the  car  i  thought  more  of  what  you  last 

said  to  me,  but  didn't  make  up  my  mind.     When  we  got  to  Y on 

the  cars  from  there  to  here  i  pulled  off  an  old  woman's  leather 
[robbed  her  of  her  pocket-book]  i  hadent  no  more  than  got  it  off  * 
when  i  wished  i  hadent  done  it ;  for  a  while  before  i  made  up  my 
mind  to  be  a  square  bloke  for  3  months  on  your  word,  but  forgot  it 
when  i  saw  the  leather  was  a  gif  [easy  to  get],  but  i  kept  clos  to  her 
&  when  she  out  of  the  cars  at  a  way  place,  i  said,  mam,  have  you 
lost  anything,  &  she  tumbled  her  leather  was  off  [found  her  purse 
was  gone],  is  this  it,  says  i,  giving  it  to  her.  Well,  says  she,  if  you 
arn't  honest,  but  i  hadent  got  cheek  enough  to  stand  that  sort  of 
talk,  so  i  left  her  in  a  hurry. 

When  i  got  here  i  had  $1  and  25  cents  left,  &  i  dident  get  no 
work  for  3  days,  as  i  aint  strong  enough  for  a  roust-about  [deck 
hand]  on  a  steam  bote.  The  afternoon  of  the  3d  day  i  spent  my 
last,  10  cents  for  2  moons  [large  round  sea  biscuit]  and  cheese  & 
was  thinking  i  would  have  to  go  on  the  dip  again  [picking  pockets], 
when  i  thought  of  what  you  once  said,  about  a  fellors  calling  on  the 
Lord  when  he  was  in  hard  luck,  &  i  thought  i  would  try  it  once 
anyhow,  but  when  i  tryed  it,  i  got  stuck  on  the  start,  and  all  i  could 
get  off  was  Lord  give  a  poor  fellow  a  chance  to  square  it  for  3 
months,  for  Christs  Sake,  Amen,  &  i  kept  a  thinking  of  it  over  &: 
over  as  i  went  along.  About  an  hour  after  that,  i  was  in  4th  St.,  & 
this  is  what  happened,  &  is  the  cause  of  my  being  where  i  am  now, 
&  about  which  i  will  tell  you  before  i  get  done  writing.  As  i  was 
walking  along  i  herd  a  big  noise  &  saw  a  horse  running  away  with  a 
carriage  with  2  children  in  it,  i  grabbed  up  a  piece  of  box-cover 
from  the  sidewalk  and  run  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  &  and  when 
the  horse  came  up  i  smashed  him  over  the  head  as  hard  as  i  could 
drive,  the  bord  split  to  peces  &  the  horse  checked  up  a  little  &  i 


22 

grabbed  the  reigns  and  pulled  his  head  down  until  he  stopped. 
The  gentleman  what  owned  him  came  running  up  and  as  soon  as  he 
saw  the  children  were  all  rite,  he  shook  hands  with  me  and  gave  me 
a  $50  greenback,  and  my  asking  the  Lord  to  help  me,  came  into 
my  head,  &  i  was  so  thunderstruck,  i  couldn't  drop  the  reins  nor 
say  nothing,  he  saw  something  was  up,  &  coming  back  to  me  said, 
my  boy  are  you  hurt?  &  the  thought  come  into  my  head  just  then 
to  ask  him  for  work,  &  i  asked  him  to  take  back  the  bill  & 
give  me  a  job,  says  he  jump  in  here  and  lets  talk  about  it,  but 
keep  the  money.  He  asked  me  if  i  could  take  care  of  horses,  &  i 
said  yes,  for  i  used  to  hang  round  livery  stables,  «Sz:  often  would  help 
clean  and  drive  horses,  he  told  me  he  wanted  a  man  for  that  work 
&  would  give  me  $16  a  month  »S:  bord  me.  You  bet  i  took  that 
chance  at  once,  that  nite  in  my  little  room  over  the  stable  i  sat  a 
long  time  thinking  over  my  past  life  &  of  what  had  just  hapened, 
&  i  just  got  down  on  my  knees  &  thanked  the  Lord  for  the  job,  & 
to  help  me  to  square  it,  &:  to  bless  you  for  putting  me  up  to  it,  & 
the  next  morning  i  done  it  again  &  got  me  some  new  togs 
[clothes]  &  a  bible,  for  i  made  up  my  mind,  after  what  the  Lord 
had  done  for  me,  i  would  read  a  little  every  nite  and  morning,  &: 
ask  him  to  keep  an  eye  on  me. 

When  i  had  been  thereabout  a  week,  Mr.  Z (that's  his  name) 

came  in  my  room  one  nite,  and  saw  me  reading  the  bible.  He 
asked  me  if  I  was  a  Christian,  and  i  told  him  no — he  asked  me  how 
it  was  i  read  the  Bible  instead  of  papers  and  books.  Well,  Tom,  I 
thought  i  had  better  give  him  a  square  deal  on  the  start,  so  i  told 
him*all  about  my  being  in  prison  &  about  you,  &  how  i  had  almost 
done  give  up  looking  for  work,  &  how  the  Lord  got  me  the  job, 
when  i  asked  him,  &  the  only  way  i  had  to  pay  him  back  was  to 
read  the  Bible  &  square  it,  &  i  asked  him  to  give  me  a  chance  for 
three  months.  He  talked  to  me  like  a  father  for  a  long  time  &  told 
me  i  could  stay,  &  then  i  felt  better  than  ever  i  had  done  in  my  life, 

for  i  had  given  Mr.  Z a  fair  start  with  me,  &  now  i  dident  fear  no 

one  giving  me  a  back  cap  [exposing  his  past  life]  &  running  me  off 
the  job. 

The  next  morning  he  called  me  into  the  library  &:  gave  me 
another  square  talk  &  advised  me  to  study  some  every  day  &  he  would 


help  me  one  or  two  liours  every  nite,  &  he  gave  me  a  arithmetic,  a 
spelling-book,  a  geography,  &  a  writing-book,  &  he  hers  me  every 
nite.  He  lets  me  come  into  the  house  to  prayers  every  morning  & 
got  me  put  in  a  Bible-class  in  the  Sunday-school,  which  i  likes  very 
much,  for  it  helps  me  to  understand  my  Bible  better. 

Now,  Tom,  the  3  months  on  the  square  are  up  2  months  ago,  &  as 
you  said,  it  is  the  best  job  i  ever  did  in  my  life,  &  i  commenced 
another  of  the  same  sort  right  away,  only  it  is  God  helping  me  to 
last  a  lifetime,  Tom.  I  wrote  this  letter  to  tell  you  i  do  think  God 
has. forgiven  my  sins,  &  herd  your  prayers,  for  you  told  me  you 
should  pray  for  me,  i  no  i  love  to  read  his  word  &  tell  him  all  my 
troubles,  &  he  helps  me  i  know  for  i  have  plenty  of  chances  to  steal, 
but  i  dont  feel  to  as  i  once  did,  &  now  i  take  more  pleasure  in  going 
to  church  than  to  the  theatre  &  that  wasn't  so  once. 

Our  minister  &  others  often  talk  with  me  &  a  month  ago  they 
wanted  me  to  join  the  church,  but  i  said  no  not  now,  i  may  be  mis- 
taken in  my  feelings,  i  will  wait  awhile.  But  now  I  feel  that  God 
has  called  me,  &  on  the  first  Sunday  in  July  i  will  join  the  church — 
dear  friend,  i  wish  i  could  write  to  you  as  i  feel  but  i  can't  do  it 
yet. 

You  kno  i  learned  to  read  and  rite  while  in  prisons,  &  i  aint  got 
well  enough  along  to  write  as  i  would  talk;  i  no  i  aint  spelled  all 
the  words  rite  in  this,  &  lots  of  other  mistakes  but  you  will  excuse 
it  i  no,  for  you  know  i  was  brought  up  in  a  poorhouse,  until  i  run 
away  &  that  i  never  new  who  my  father  and  mother  was,  and  i  don't 
know  my  rite  name,  &  I  hope  you  wont  be  mad  at  me,  but  i  have  as 
much  rite  to  one  name  as  another  &  I  have  taken  your  name,  for 
you  wont  use  it  when  you  get  out,  i  no,  and  you  are  the  man  i  think 
most  of  in  the  world ;  so  i  hope  you  wont  be  mad — I  am  doing  well 
i  put  $10  a  month  in  bank  with  $25  out  of  the  $50,  if  you  ever  want 
any  or  all  of  it,  let  me  know,  &  it  is  yours,  i  wish  you  would  let 
me  send  you  some  now.  I  send  you  with  this  a  receipt  for  a  year  of 
Littell's  Living  Age,  i  didn't  know  what  you  would  like  &  i  told  Mr. 
Z~ — ,  &  he  said  he  thought  you  would  like  it.  i  wish  i  was  nere  you, 
so  i  could  send  you  chuck  [refreshments]  on  holidays,  it  would  spoil 
this  weather  from  here,  but  i  will  send  you  a  box  next  thanksgiving 
any  way.     Next  week  Mr.  Z takes  me  into  his  store  as  lite  porter 


24 

&  will  advance  me  as  soon  as  i  know  a  little  more  :  he  keeps  a  big 
granary  store,  wholesale. 

I  forgot  to  tell  you  of  my  Mission  Sunday-school  class,  the  school 
is  in  the  Sunday  afternoon,  I  went  out  2  Sunday  afternoons  &: 
picked  up  seven  kids  [little  boys]  &  got  them  to  come  in.  Two  of 
them  knew  as  much  as  i  did  &  i  had  them  put  in  a  class  where 
they  could  learn  something,  i  don't  know  much  myself,  but  as  these 
kids  cant  read,  i  get  on  nicely  with  them,  i  make  sure  of  them  by 
going  after  them  every  Sunday  J  an  hour  before  schooltime,  i  also  got 
four  girls  to  come. 

Tell  Mack  &:  Harry  about  me  if  they  will  come  out  here,  when 
their  time  is  up,  i  will  get  them  jobs  at  once. 

I  hope  you  will  excuse  this  long  letter  &  all  mistakes,  i  wish  i 
could  see  you  for  i  can't  write  as  i  would  talk.  I  hope  the  warm 
weather  is  doing  your  lungs,  i  was  afraid  when  you  was  bleeding 
you  would  die.  Give  my  respects  to  all  the  boys,  and  tell  them 
how  i  am  doing,  i  am  doing  well,  &  every  one  here  treats  me  as 

kind  as  they  can.     Mr.  Z is  going  to  write  to  you  some  time,  i 

hope  some  day  you  will  write  to  me. 

This  letter  is  from  your  very  true  friend  who  you  no  as         . 


SAVED    BY    A   WOMAN. 

A  Pickpocket  and  Burglar  from  Joliet  at  last  in  a  Legitimate  Business. 

As  Miss  Linda  Gilbert,  who  has  done  so  much  for  the  inmates  of 
prisons  in  all  parts  of  the  country,  was  walking  down  Broadway 
recently,  she  was  gently  tapped  on  the  shoulder.  Turning  she  saw 
a  well-dressed  man,  who  bowed  and  smiled.  Thinking  that  she  had 
been  insulted,  she  was  about  to  proceed  on  her  way,  but  was  arrested 
by  the  words : 

"  Miss  Gilbert,  don't  you  remember  me.^" 

She  looked  sharply  at  the  man  for  a  few  minutes.  He  extended 
his  hand,  saying,  "  Don't  you  remember  me  in  Joliet,  the  State  prison 
of  Illinois.'*" 

"  Why,  Charley ,"  said  she,  "  what  are  you  doing  here.?" 


25 

He  blushed  and  bowed. 

"Are  you  at  your  old  business?"  she  asked.  He  had  been  a 
notorious  pickpocket  and  burglar,  and  had  served  several  terms  in 
State  prisons.  He  was  well  educated,  was  handsome,  and  might  have 
been  mistaken  for  an  honest,  industrious  person,  in  well-to-do  circum- 
stances. Seeing  that  they  might  have  too  many  listeners  in  the 
street,  Miss  Gilbert  invited  the  man  to  her  home,  saying  that  she 
wished  to  have  a  long  talk  with  him.     He  called  that  evening. 

"  Well,  Charley,"  said  she,  greeting  him  cordially,  "  what  have  you 
done  since  you  arrived  in  the  city  ?" 

Half  closing  his  eyelids  he  answered,  "  I  took  a  watch  and  $500 
yesterday." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  said  Miss  Gilbert.  "  I  want  you  to  be  a 
better  man.  Why  will  you  always  live  with  the  State  prison  staring 
you  in  the  face }  Why  do  you  not  settle  down  to  some  honest 
employment.?  You  have  wonderful  ability  and  can  conduct  an 
honorable  business." 

He  turned  his  head,  unable  to  look  into  the  face  of  the  earnest 
woman  before  him,  and  replied  : 

"What  shall  I  do.?" 

"  Return  the  watch  and  money  yo\i  stole  while  here,  and  then 
come  to  me,"  said  Miss  Gilbert,  "  and  I  will  assist  you.  I  will  see 
that  you  are  not  punished,  and  try  to  put  you,  into  some  good  work." 

He  promised  that  he  would  restore  the  watch  and  money,  and 
went  away.  The  next  evening  he  was  again  at  Miss  Gilbert's.  He 
told  her  that  he  went  to  the  office  of  the  gentleman  he  had  robbed 
and  handed  back  the  watch  and  money,  and  that  the  gentleman 
without  saying  anything  gave  him  $100. 

"  Here  is  $50  more,"  said  Miss  Gilbert,  handing  him  that  amount, 
and  adding,  "  now  I  will  get  you  into  business." 

A  small  cigar  store  in  one  of  the  avenues  on  the  west  side  was 
procured  for  him,  and  he  is  doing  a  good  business.  None  of  his 
neighbors  know  that  he  was  ever  a  professional  pickpocket  and 
burglar,  and  all  have  great  confidence  in  him  and  believe  him  an 
upright,  honorable  man,  as  he  tells  Miss  Gilbert  he  will  always  be. 

It  should  be  added  to  the  above,  that  his  wife  and  children  refused 
to  acknowledge  him,  on  his  release  from  ten  years'  imprisonment, 


26 

thus  forcing  him  back  into  the  current  of  crime :  but  that  through 
Miss  Gilbert's  efforts  the  discordant  elements  have  been  harmonized, 
and  he  is  now  entirely  restored  to  his  family  and  to  society. — New 
York  Suji. 


A  true  history  of  individual  suffering  witnessed  by  Geo.  Francis 
Train  furnished  the  inspiration  for  the  following  poem. 

EPIGRAM.  ' 

Written  in  Jail,  in  the  City  of  Churches,  MiJnii^ht,  March  loth,  1871. 

Christian  !  list  to  a  sickening  tale 
Of  a  fearful  night  in  the  County  Jail  ; 
A  night  of  horror  within  the  pale 

Of  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

Five  human  beings  in  a  rotten  den, 
Treated  like  brutes  instead  of  men, 
Packed  like  hogs  in  a  stinking  pen. 
In  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

No  pillows,  basins,  towels,  or  mats  ; 
But  plenty  of  bedbugs,  spiders  and  bats, 
A  municipality  of  political  rats, 

In  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

I  frankly  admit,  I  am  ill  at  ease  ; 
This  itching,  I  know,  is  not  from  fleas, 
Have  I  been  catching  the  Ring  disease. 

That  infects  the  City  of  the  Churches  ? 

Hark  !  do  you  hear  that  awful  moan- 
That  agonizing,  crying  monotone. 
So  horribly  like  a  dying  groan, 

In  the  holy  City  of  Churcnes  ? 

What  is  it  that  makes  him  curse  and  rave  ? 
Quick,  there  !  a  light !   perhaps  we'll  save 
A  fellow-creature  from  a  bloody  grave. 
In  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

My  God  !     Oh,  see  this  dreadful  thing — 
A  sight  that  should  any  conscience  sting —    , 
A  wretched  victim  of  a  swindling  Ring  ! 
In  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 


n 


How  many  days  can  lie  liave  spent, 
Worshipping  God  in  the  middle  of  Lent, 
Wallowing  here  in  his  excrement ! 

In  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 


Completely  naked  on  the  floor  of  his  cell, 
Covered  with  blood  from  whence  he  fell ; 
If  this  is  Heaven,  I  am  off  for  Hell  ! 
In  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

Bergh's  stout  heart  would  surely  quail, 
If  he  could  hear  this  dismal  wail 
'Of  a  dying  man  in  a  Christian  jail, 
In"  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

The  Times  reporter  saw  him  bathed  in  gore 
Through  a  little  hole  in  the  dungeon  door  ; 
And  turned  away — he  could  stand  no  more,— 
In  the  holy  city  of  Churches  ! 

Five  witnesses  showed  him  this  case  of  distress, 
Which  the  Ring  Chief  Storey  has  dared  to  suppress. 
At  last  I've  trapped  this  subsidized  press 
In  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

Fisk,  and  Tweed,  and  Tammany  Hall, 
And  the  Domingo  job  are  bitter  as  gall ; 
But  the  Chicago  Ring  discounts  them  all — 
In  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

Imprisoned  in  almost  every  land. 
Where  fighting  for  liberty  I  took  my  stand. 
Yet  I  never  met  such  an  infamous  band 
As  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

O  God  !  who  doeth  all  things  well. 
Why  wind  around  my  heart  this  spell  ! 
Are  you  in  the  Ring  of  the  Court  House  bell 
Of  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ? 

With  a  woman  sheriff  would  such  things  be — 
Such  filth  and  pitiless  misery  ? 
Thank  Heaven!  the  world  will  soon  be  free  ! 
In  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

It  makes  the  chills  all  o'er  me  creep — 
But  my  eyes  ache,  so  I  cannot  weep. 


The  live  long  night — I  could  not  sleep, 
In  the  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

When  will  the  outraged  people  rise — 
In  lamp-post  justice  with  earnest  cries, 
And  a  wild  hurrah  for  the  next  that  dies  ? 
In  that  holy  City  of  Churches  ! 

Geo.  Francis  Train. 

Mr.  G.  F.  Train  was  applied  to  to  furnish  in  detail  the  incident 
which  suggested  the  above  powerful  and  soul-stirring  piece  of  poetry, 
whereupon  he  sent  the  following  letter  in  reply. 

Madison  Avenue  Park, 
New  York,  April  15th,  P.    E.    47. 
Miss  Linda  Gilbert, 

The  Prison  Reformer  : 
I  remember  that  jail  poem,  but  have  no  copy.  1  take  no  interest 
in  my  literary  children.  I  have  made  many  books,  but  do  not  pos- 
sess a  copy  of  any  edition.  I  have  had  many  prints,  and  paintings, 
and  photo's  taken,  but  have  no  copy.  I  do  not  exist  as  I  was,  I  died 
in  the  jails.  By-and-by  you  will  refuse  to  eat  meat,  shake  hands,  or 
wear  away  your  life  in  looking  after  prisoners.  The  same  indefa- 
tigable energy  in  looking  after  the  body  that  Moody  shows  in  look- 
ing after  the  soul,  and  you  have  shown  in  providing  for  the  mind, 
and  Bergh  shows  for  horses,  would  do  much  to  rescue  humanity 
from  men.  You  need  rest,  Turkish  baths,  and  oxygen  and  sun. 
We  are  on  the  eve  of  thrilling  psychological  changes.  I  feel  it  in 
the  air.  G.    F.    Train. 


THE  WORK  IN  ITALY. 

The  following  article,  translated  from  L Eco  d' Italia,  will  show 
that,  by  a  recent  correspondence  between  Saffi  of  Rome,  Garibaldi, 
Giuseppe  Dassi  of  Milan,  and  Miss  Gilbert,  influences  have  been 
brought  to  bear  upon  leading  minds  in  Italy,  and  a  movement  is 
now  being  organized  in  honor  of  her  work  there.  She  is  in  receipt 
of  letters  of  congratulation  and  encouragement  from  Italy,  France, 


29 

and  Germany,  offering  to  place  money  in  her  hands  to  work  with, 
if  she  will  labor  in  their  country. 

Must  the  work  be  left  to  die  at  home  for  want  of  means,  while 
she  is  receiving  such  encouragement  from  abroad  ? 

Rehabilitation  of  Prisoners. 

The  humane  thought  of  the  rehabilitation  of  prisoners,  vindicated 
in  America  with  so  much  faith  and  hope  by  the  philanthropist.  Miss 
Linda  Gilbert  of  New  York,  finds  also  in  Italy  generous  disciples 
among  the  gentle  sex.  These,  subjecting  themselves  to  sacrifices 
and  to  unwearied  work,  intend,  in  the  first  place,,  to  soften  the  hearts 
of  these  unhappy  ones  through  useful  books,  then,  at  the  expiration 
of  their  sentence,  to  provide  them  with  work.  The  task  certainly  is 
not  one  of  the  easiest,  from  the  inveterate  prejudices  which  are 
maintained  against  criminals ;  but  with  good  wishes,  zeal,  and  abne- 
gation, it  will  not  be  impossible  to  woman,  who  has  so  much  power 
over  humanity,  to  attain  those  results. 

One  of  the  standard-bearers,  in  Italy,  of  this  eminently  Christian 
work  is  the  gracious  Signorina  Leontina  Dassi,  daughter  of  the  em- 
inent patriot,  Signor  Giuseppe  Dassi,  President  of  the  Lombard 
Committee  at  the  Centennial  Exposition,  who  now  in  her  childhood 
has  dedicated  herself  with  intelligent  affection  to  the  relief  and 
improvement  of  criminals.  The  illustrious  and  venerable  patriot 
Aurelio  Saffi,  formerly  triumvir  of  the  Roman  Republic,  moved  by 
the  virtue  of  the  above-named  Signorina  Dassi,  addressed  to  her 
the  following  most  affectionate  letter : 
My  Young  and  Gentle  Friend  : 

I  have  owed  you  for  some  time  an  acknowledgment  for  the  good 
and  kind  words  which  you  sent  me,  in  making  me  a  present  of  your 
Biographical  Sketches  of  Miss  Linda  Gilbert,  though,  if  I  have  de- 
layed to  thank  you  for  them,  do  not  think  that  I  have  forgotten  my 
indebtedness.  You,  laboring  to  let  Italy  know  the  great  good  which 
that  merciful  woman  is  doing  in  the  American  prisons,  and  propos- 
ing to  imitate  her,  ask  counsel  and  encouragement  of  me.  May 
you  have  as  much  as  I  can  offer  you  :  sincere  sympathy  and  profound 
faith  in  the  thought  which  inspires  you.  The  present  system,  even 
in  countries  most  disposed  to  consult  the  warnings  of  humanity  and 


science  in  this  matter,  generally  seeks  the  physical  punishment  more 
than  the  moral  correction  of  the  criminal.  This  tends  to  degrade 
rather  than  to  elevate  him ;  it  eradicates  from  his  mind  every  good 
intention,  deprives  him  of  self-respect,  and  the  hope  of  being  able 
to  regain  the  .respect  of  others. 

In  the  majority  of  cases,  our  prisons,  as  Oliver  Goldsmith  said  of 
those  of  his  day,  "  confine  wretches  for  the  commission  of  one 
crime,  and  return  them  to  society  ready  to  commit  a  thousand." 

Certainly,  the  gentler  and  more  humane  sentiments  of  our  age 
have  prepared  the  soil  for  the  great  reform  which  a  few  generous 
souls  have  inaugurated  since  that  time.  The  ideas  of  Beccaria  in 
Italy,  and  of  Goldsmith  in  Ireland,  find,  in  almost  all  the  countries  of 
Europe,  active  disciples,  whose  noble  efforts  will  1)ring  forth  happy 
results,  and  to-day  we  have  the  illustrious  compassion  of  Linda 
Gilbert  in  America. 

It  is  precisely  in  this  way  that  you  have  forwarded  in  Italy  Miss 
Gilbert's  blessed  work,  which  adds  so  much  to  the  mission  of  woman 
you  understand  so  well. 

I  therefore  rejoice  in  my  heart  with  you  and  with  that  chosen  and 
good  daughter  of  Italy,  who,  in  the  periodical  La  Donna^  has 
lovingly  worked  for  several  years  to  rouse  the  sisters  of  her  country 
to  a  sense  of  their  duties,  regardless  of  fatigue,  infirmity,  or  abuse. 
I  rejoice  and  hope,  because  in  the  gentle  affections  of  woman  is  the 
key  of  our  future.  To  her — as  saint  of  the  domestic  hearth,  and  as 
sister  of  charity  of  the  social  world — is  committed  the  major 
portion  of  the  education  of  minds  in  goodness  and  civil  power  : 
through  her  virtue,  the  character  of  a  whole  nation  can  be  changed. 
And  you,  inspired  with  the  true  conception  of  the  law  of  life, 
through  the  noble  exertions  of  your  parents,  who  in  your  early  youth 
feel  so  worthily  the  need  of  consecrating  yourself  to  the  elevation 
of  your  fellow-creatures,  may  you  have  with  my  prayers  this  comfort : 
that  your  resolve  is  one  of  those  which  are  blessed  by  men  and  by 
Heaven. 

'  Remember  me  with  affection  to  your  dear  ones,  and  accept  a 
cordial  grasp  of  the  hand  from  your  devoted 

AURELIO    '^AFFI. 


31 


JUSTICE  AND  INJUSTICE. 

An    Extact     from    Miss     Gilbert's     Lecture     before     the 
Wisconsin  Legislature. 

The  popular  notion  is,  that  when  a  person  commits  a  crime,  he 
should  be  pursued  by  all  the  "  dogs  of  war  "  that  can  be  "  let  loose  " 
and  pressed  into  the  service  of  the  law.  That  red-handed  Justice, 
mounted  on  a  fiery  charger,  attended  by  a  full  staff  of  blood-hounds, 
four-legged  and  two-legged,  and  armed  with  a  hangman's  noose,  a 
scorpion  lash,  and  other  instruments  of  death  and  torture,  should  chase 
him  up  and  down  the  world  with  vindictive  fury,  till  at  last  the  panting 
fugitive  is  overtaken,  captured,  and  made  the  subject  of  retributive 
vengeance,  at  the  hands  of  an  outraged  public.  And  amid  the 
excitement  of  the  chase,  and  the  trial  that  follows  the  capture,  not 
one  in  a  thousand  stops  to  inquire  into  the  antecedents  of  the 
offender — to  learn  what  were  the  mental  and  moral  proclivities  which 
he  inherited  at  his  birth — under  what  kind  of  influences  he  was 
cradled  and  reared — how  abnormal  and  debasing  the  conditions 
which  have  surrounded  him  through  all  his  previous  life,  or  what 
peculiar  temptations  worked  upon  his  mind  and  heart,  when  the 
unlawful  deed  was  done.  All  that  is  known,  all  that  the  public  seek 
to  know,  is  that  he  has  committed  a  crime,  and  the  cry  is :  "  Crucify 
him,  crucify  him !" 


A  PRISONER'S  APPEAL. 

Winnebago  County  Jail, 
OsHKOSH,  Wis.,  December  30th,   1875. 
Dear  Miss.  Gilbert  : 

From  various  notices  in  the  newspaper  press,  I  learn  that  you- 
nobly  devote  yourself  to  the  important  work  of  reforming  criminals, 
and  have  done  much  to  lighten  the  burden  of  prison  life,  and  fur- 
nish released  prisoners  with  assistance,  etc. 

The  knowledge  of  this  fact  emboldens  me  to  address  you  from  this 


32 

dreary  place,  in  the  hope  that  you  will  kindly  interest  yourself  in  my 
behalf. 

You  will,  I  am  sure,  overlook  the  many  imperfections  exhibited  in 
my  present  letter,  as  it  is  written  under  the  disadvantages  consequent 
upon  a  dimly  lighted  apartment  containing  neither  table  nor  desk  to 
write  upon,  and  amid  the  noisy  and  numerous  interruptions  of  several 
other  prisoners. 

I  was  formerly  in  respectable  circumstances  in  Canada,  and 
engaged  in  mercantile  business  in  connection  with  the  Southern 
States.  Until  the  rebellion  broke  out,  things  prospered  tolerably 
well  with,  me,  but  when  the  war  commenced,  by  one  fell  swoop, 
I  lost  the  whole  of  my  property — by  a  stroke,  sudd.en,  fatal,  and 
irretrievable.  The  blow  came  with  crushing  force,  and  was  not  with- 
out a  very  serious  and  deleterious  effect  upon  my  character.  Gather- 
ing together  a  few  dollars,  and  possessing  some  literary  reputation  as 
correspondent  of  a  European  journal,  I  came  on  to  New  York,  and 
applied  to  the  late  James  Gordon  Bennett,  for  a  position  on  the 
editorial  staff  of  the  Herald^  as  a  war  correspondent.  Not  obtaining 
it  immediately,  I  joined  the  United  States  army,  and  served  through 
the  war  in  the  capacity  of  a  hospital  steward. 

At  the  conclusion  of  hostilities,  I  came  out  West,  and  became 
connected  with  the  newspaper  press,  first  in  Indiana,  then  in  Illinois, 
and  latterly  in  this  State.  Owing  to  the  dull  times,  my  last  venture 
in  the  newspaper  business  proved  disastrous,  and  drained  me  of  every 
dollar  I  possessed.  I  subsequently  engaged  in  canvassing  for  several 
papers,  but  my  exertions  proved  so  unprofitable  'to  me  that  I  was  at 
last  obliged  to  part  w^ith  watch,  books,  and  clothing,  to  procure  the 
means  of  subsistence,  and  defray  travelling  expenses. 

Arriving  in  this  town  in  the  beginning  of  September  last,  I  was  in 
such  reduced  circumstances,  that  for  several  days  I  had  made  dinner 
the  single  meal  of  twenty-four  hours,  and  was  without  a  shelter  at 
night.  While  in  this  extremity  of  suffering,  in  a  half  crazy  condition, 
I  took  a  coat  belonging  to  a  guest  at  a  hotel,  and  sold  it  for  a  small 
sum,  at  a  second-hand  clothing  store.  The  theft  having  been  seen, 
I  was  arrested,  pleaded  guilty  to  the  charge,  and  was  sentenced  by 
Justice  Sarrau  to  four  months'  imprisonment  in  the  county  jail,  with 
hard  labor. 


33 

My  sentence  expires  on  the  9th  of  January,  1876,  at  which  date  I 
will  be  discharged  in  a  most  deplorable  state  of  destitution.  My 
clothes  have  been  worn  out,  my  boots  are  entirely  unfit  for  a  Wisconsin 
winter ;  overcoat  I  have  none,  and  only  an  old  summer  straw  hat  to 
wear  on  my  head.  I  have  neither  got  one  cent  of  money,  and  when 
I  leave  this  jail,  will  go  out  into  the  piercing  cold  without  a  roof  to 
shelter  me. 

During  the  term  of  my  imprisonment,  I  have  been  employed  in 
sawing,  splitting,  and  carrying  in  stove-wood  to  the  court-house, 
county  offices,  and  jail ;  lighting  the  fires  and  cleaning  the  court- 
house, etc.,  and  the  wear  and  tear  of  my  clothes  has  been  so  great 
that  Sheriff  Stephens  kindly  furnished  me  with  cottonade  pants  and 
a  pair  of  socks,  on  Christmas  day. 

By  the  pressing  necessities  of  my  condition  I  am  forced  to  apply 
somewhere  for  assistance  until  I  can  obtain  some  kind  of  employ- 
ment. 

The  duty  of  repentance  by  confessing  and  forsaking  my  sins  is 
vividly  impressed  upon  me.  I  have  been  a  wanderer  from  God, 
and  I  feel  that  it  is  my  duty  to  return  to  him.  I  have  offended  him 
by  transgressing  his  laws,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  confess  the  same, 
and  to  ask  the  divine  forgiveness.  I  see  clearly  the  path  I  should 
take  on  my  return  to  the  outer  world,  and  the  high  duties  for  which 
I  should  brace  myself;  and  then  again,  a  season  of  depression  suc- 
ceeds, and  there  are  times  when  almost  a  paralysis  falls  upon  the 
powers  of  my  mind.  It  becomes  unnerved  for  decision,  and  incom- 
petent to  strike  out  a  line  of  action  to  be  adopted,  when  once  more 
a  free  man. 

At  such  seasons  life  seems  hardly  worth  the  having.  It  is  sad  to 
speak  or  to  think  in  this  strain,  but  as  in  the  various  relations  of  life 
there  is  generally  friend,  child,  or  kinsman  to  own  our  love,  so  the 
Christian  heart  love  is  wider  than  these,  and  can  even  take  in  the 
loneliness  of  the  most  estranged  and  degraded,  and  most  distant. 

I  pray  daily  to  our  Heavenly  Father  to  enable  me  to  abstain  from 
future  acts  of  sin,  and  that  the  temptations  to  which  I  shall  be 
exposed  on  going  out  again  into  the  world,  may  be  successfully  en- 
countered and  mastered. 

The  wheel  of  life  revolves.    Our  very  mistakes  in  life  may  be  over- 
3 


34 

ruled  for  higher  ends,  and  our  very  tears  water  spiritual  growth,  that 
may  hereafter  become  rich  with  immortal  fruit.  The  force  of  adverse 
circumstances  is  sometimes  one  of  the  weapons  in  the  divine  arsenal 
whereby  our  self-discipline  is  accomplished,  and  we  are  brought  out 
of  ourselves  by  the  sorrow  that  comes  not  out  of  the  ground,  and 
the  trouble  that  comes  not  from  the  dust,  into  simple  dependence 
on  an  overruling  power. 

But  I  fear  that  I  am  trespassing  upon  your  patience.  I  feel  cer- 
tain that  you  have  numerous  claims  upon  your  generosity,  and  that 
perhaps,  however  willing  you  may  be  to  render  assistance,  circum- 
stances may  not  permit  of  your  doing  so.  I  earnestly  trust,  however, 
that  you  may  be  able  to  do  something  for  me.  One  has  said,  "  no 
man  may  deliver  his  brother,  he  can  but  throw  him  a  plank."  Throw 
me  a  plank,  if  in  your  power.  I  well  know  from  the  estimation  in 
which  you  are  held,  that  to  promote  those  supreme  objects  which 
are  dear  to  the  hearts  of  all  Christian  people  is  your  highest  ambition, 
if  it  be  in  your  power  to  do  so.  Life  is  popularly  said  to  be  decided 
by  its  turning  points.  There  will  come  a  turning  point  in  my  life 
within  a  very  few  days.  There  is  the  danger  of  a  relapse  if  some 
assistance  is  not  extended  to  me,  and  this  fact  troubles  my  mind 
exceedingly,  and  causes  me  to  dread  again  facing  a  cold  world, 
penniless,  homeless,  and  ragged. 

Appealing  to  your  kindness  and  sympathy,  and  requesting  you  as 
a  favor  to  keep  my  name  confidential,  I  am,  etc. 


LIBERATED   PRISONERS   AND    REPEATED    CRIME. 

The  Dangers  of  the  Unemployed — The  Remedy  for  their 
Salvation  and  our  Safety. 
The  Boston  papers  in  recent  issue  conveyed  to  the  public  these 
sad  words :  "  John  Hurley,  the  youthful  burglar,  who  has  thirteen 
years  of  unexpired  sentence  to  serve  in  the  State  Prison,  told  the 
deputy  chief  of  police  on  Saturday,  that  he  had  suffered  more  outside 
the  prison  than  within  it.  During  the  past  three  weeks  he  has  been 
unable  to  obtain  work,  and  has  had  little  food  and  nowhere  to  lodge." 


35 

This  appalling  case  is  not  an  exception ;  it  is  only  a  representative 
case — one  of  the  many.  The  simple,  unvarnished  truth  is,  that  the 
liberated  prisoner  is  met  almost  universally  with  fear,  with  an  utter 
want  of  confidence,  by  the  better  classes.  Worse  than  this — he  is 
met  with  neglect,  with  cold  and  icy  repulsion,  and  with  but  little  of 
the  confidence,  sympathy,  and  kindness  so  essential  to  quicken, 
invigorate,  and  make  strong  his  highest  and  best  nature. 

The  difficulties  of  a  discharged  convict  in  obtaining  business  are 
simply  indescribable;  but  few  mechanics  and  manufacturers  are 
willing  to  employ  them ;  the  same  is  true  of  merchants.  In  many 
places  an  applicant  for  employment  is  asked  if  he  has  ever  been  in  a 
penal  institution  as  a  convict.  If  truthful,  he  goes  out  as  poor  Hur- 
ley did — to  the  street,  to  be  hungry  and  homeless.  Where  shall  these 
discouraged,  weary  outcasts  lay  their  anxious  heads  ?  If  a  kind- 
hearted  employer  or  boarding-house  keeper  takes  them,  the 
employed  and  the  boarders  give  notice  that  they  will  leave  if  the 
"jail -bird  "  remains. 

Prisoners — gaod  men — have  been  offered  pardons  if  they  could  find 
good  places,  and  some  of  the  best  men  and  women  have  sought  such 
places  for  them,  but,  failing  to  find  parties  to  take  them,  the  proffered 
pardon  has  been  of  no  advantage,  and  the  prisoner  remained  his 
appointed  time  "behind  the  bars."  Such  being  the  facts,  how  can 
they  stand,  with  every  avenue  of  honorable  employment  closed  to 
them,  with  all  respectability  indifferent  to  or  afraid  of  them  } 

Their  fall  and  our  danger  are  made  certain  where  there  are  none  to 
give  them  a  warm  and  cordial  reception  but  the  dangerous  classes, 
none  to  offer  them  work  but  the  enemies  of  society,  as  thieves  in  all 
their  divisions,  as  drummers  and  procurers  of  houses  of  ififamy,  as 
gamblers,  etc.,  etc.  With  such  repulsions,  difficulties,  temptations,  is 
it  strange  that  so  many  of  this  class  fall  in  the  conflict  which  we 
force  upon  them }  •  Is  it  not  more  astonishing  that  so  many  stand 
firm  and  honest }  Should  we  not  rather  expect  that  under  this  pres- 
sure they  will  yield  to  temptation  and  again  fall  into  crime,  and 
sooner  or  later  subject  you  and  every  tax-payer  to  the  expense  of 
capturing,  convicting,  and  returning  them  to  prison,  in  which*  the  evil 
tendencies  of  their  natures  must  be  excited,  exasperated,  strength- 
ened, and  developed,  as  yours  or  mine  would  be  in  their  situation  .'' 


36 

For  all  these  evils  we  must  seek  the  remedy.  The  best  interests  of 
all  prisoners,  and  especially  of  those  about  to  be  released,  call  ear- 
nestly for  it. 

The  best  interests  of  our  youths,  who  are  in  danger  of  being  led 
into  crime,  demand  it.  The  protection  of  our  mothers,  wives, 
and  daughters  from  fright,  nervous  shocks,  paralysis,  and  death 
demands  security  from  burglars. 

The  safe  protection  and  enjoyment  of  our  property  demands  the 
remedy.  The  remedy  is  simply  and  easily  obtained.  If  John 
Hurley  had  had  work,  he  would  not  have  committed  the  crime. 
The  remedy  is  employment;  if  this  cannot  be  obtained  in  the  ordi- 
nary way,  by  the  efforts  of  the  unemployed,  by  the  assistance  of 
friends,  or  by  the  many  missionary  or  industrial  agencies,  then  a  great 
industrial  institution  will  meet  the  necessity.  It  should  embrace  a 
farm  and  workshops  of  many  kinds,  which  shall  be  open  at  all 
times  to  the  unemployed — where  they  can  earn  moderate  wages,  and 
stay  until  a  better  prospect  opens  before  them  ;  a  great  institution 
to  which  society  can  direct  all  applicants  for  work  or  help,  with  an 
absolute  certainty  of  their  reception ;  the  only  essentials  to  admission 
being  a  desire  to  work  arid  a  willingness  to  conform  to  reasonable  and 
humane  regulations.  The  endowment  6i  such  an  institution  by  the 
benevolent,  or  by  the  city,  county,  or  State,  would  lift  a  great  burden 
and  care  from  the  honest  and  industrious  poor,  many  of  whom  suffer 
in  private,  and  never  name  their  destitution.  It  would  save  hun- 
dreds from  dishonest  and  unworthy  means  to  obtain  a  living ;  and  last, 
but  fiot  leasts  it  would  clearly  designate  those  who  choose  to  be  beggars 
and  thieves,  and  so  enable  our  officers  the  more  effectually  to  look 
after  them  and  protect  us.  The  industrial  institution  can  easily 
be  founded;  each  city  can  easily  -endow  one,  and  every  densely 
populated  county  in  oiir  country  should  have  one — yes,  two, 
one  a  voluntary  and  the  other  an  involuntary ;  the  involuntary  for 
those  especially  who  refuse  to  work  and  continue  to  beg,  and  for  all 
drunkards  who  leave  their  families  to  suffer,  and  for  us  to  grieve 
over,  c^re  for,  and  support,  while  hundreds  of  others,  temperate  and 
industrious,  but  out  of  work,  suffer  without  help  because  they  are 
silent  and  uncomplaining.  The  city,  the  county  should  give  its 
unemployed  work. 


37 

I  am  not  the  only  advocate  of  this  thought.  E.  Winslow,  Esq.,  of 
Ward  17,  General  Siipt.  Heywood,  of  the  B.  &  F.  Railroad,  and 
.Linda  Gilbert  have  advocated  it  and  continue  to  do  so.  Major  Burn- 
ham  Wardwell,  ex-warden  of  the  Virginia  State  Prison,  and  who  (see 
Dr.  Wine's  report  on  that  prison)  did  wonders  in  its  management  by 
love,  is  laboring  for  it  with  enthusiasm.  Rev.  Dr.  Pierce,  Editor  of 
Zions  Herald,  and  many  others,  too  numerous  to  mention,  of  tlie 
most  advance  philanthropic  men  and  women  of  our  time,  approve  it. 
Once  inaugurated,  it  will  gather  to  its  standard  hosts  of  the  noblest 
friends  of  humanity.  We  must  not,  however,  wait  for  city,  county, 
or  State  to  inaugurate  this  great  work ;  private  benevolent  action 
must  lead  the  van. 

The  work  can  be  and  doubtless  will  be  begun  in  a  small  way  on 
a  cheap  plan,  to  which  such  industrial  men  as  Hurley  may  go  and 
receive  work  and  wages,  kindness  and  love,  rest  and  pleasure,  and, 
it  is  hoped,  some  little  of  the  aesthetic  and  beautiful. 

The  above  was  presented,  by  the  writer,  to  the  Prison  Reform 
Congress  last  May,  in  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  and  received  the  unanimous 
approval  of  that  large  and  intelligent  body,  representing  some  twenty- 
five  of  the  States  of  our  Union.  The  time  has  come  for  action  here, 
and  the  writer  will  be  glad*  to  confer  by  letter  or  in  person  with 
those  who  favor  this  work,  and  those  also  who  favor  the  plan  adopted 
by  the  Heath  street  mission  of  giving  work  to  poor  women  and 
girls.  Wm.  Bradley, 

Minister  of  the  Heath  St.  Mission, 

Boylston  Station,  P.  O.  Box  42. 


PENITENTIARY  REFORM. 

This  subject  is  less  discussed  than  it  should  be,  when  we  consider 
the  thousands  and  thousands  of  human  beings  throughout  the  world 
entering  prisons  every  year,  and  whom  the  States,  though  not  under 
obligation  to  reform,  are  under  the  obligations  not  to  ruin,  yet  of 
whom  under  the  present  irrational  system  an  overwhelmingly  large 
majority  are  in  fact  ruined,  we  may  well  wonder  that  social  thinkers  • 


38     , 

and  humanitarians  do  not  devote  more  labor  to  agitation  of  the 
question.  When  we  further  consider  the  millions  of  dollars,  the 
gains  of.  honest  industry,  that  are  expended  anually  in  supporting 
felons  who  certainly  ought  not  to  have  got  by  crimes  an  advantage 
over  innocent  men,  we  may  well  wonder  that  economists  and  states- 
men have  not  directed  their  attention  more  persistently  to  the 
question.  Notwithstanding  its  humanitarian  and  economic  aspects, 
few  subjects  of  social  importance  challenge  public  attention  less. 
All  know  the  abuse  connected  with  it,  yet  few  understand  it  or  care 
to  understand  it.  Until  recently,  nearly  all  discussions  of  the  sub- 
ject have  been  superficial,  and  legislation  has  been  directed  to  patch- 
ing up  rather  than  to  fundamental  reform. 

We  hope  a  better  day  is  at  hand.  There  is  beginning  to  be  an 
awakening.  Prison  congresses,  if  they  do  no  other  good,  will  at 
least  excite  a  popular  interest  that  will  afford  an  audience  to  those 
who,  as  scholars  and  thinkers,  shall  undertake  a  methodic  and  exhaust- 
ive exposition  of  the  subject.  The  theory  of  prison  discipline,  elabor- 
ately expounded  by  Mr.  Alexander  in  the  minority  report  of  the 
board  of  guardians,  will  doubtless  arrest  attention  in  this  and  in  other 
countries.  Mr.  Alexander's  treatment  of  the  subject,  so  far  as  we 
are  aware,  is  quite  new.  At  the  outset  he  cuts  loose  from  sentiment, 
and  seeks  the  guidance  of  reason  alone.  He  takes  nothing  for 
granted.  For  popular  use,  at  least,  it  is  perhaps  an  objection  to  his 
paper  that  he  disdains  to  build  on  anything  but  fundamental  princi- 
ples. 

The  received  theory  of  prison  discipline,  a  legacy  from  remote  an- 
tiquity, is  of  a  piece  with  man's  other  ideas  of  the  ancients.  Their 
prisoners  of  war,  for  example,  were  regarded  as  being  without  any 
rights,  and  if  their  lives  were  spared,  that  they  might  become  the  slaves 
of  their  conquerors,  it  was  theirs  to  be  thankful.  In  absolute  harmony 
with  that  idea  was  the  notion  that  prisoners  for  crime  forfeited  all 
rights.  Whatever  privileges,  *if  any,  they  enjoyed,  was  a  bounty. 
Not  only  slaves,  but  criminal  slaves,  they  had  no  right  to  complain 
of  any  degradation  or  any  barbarity.  If  the  soldier,  fighting  honor- 
ably but  unsuccessfully,  could  be  coolly  put  to  death  by  Parrhasius, 
why  should  not  the  criminal  captive,  under  whatever  cruelties,  be 
thankful  that  his  life  was  spared  ?     He  had  forfeited  all  rights.     He 


39 

was  but  a  slave,  and  must    take  whatever  was  given,  and  endure 
whatever  was  inflicted. 

The  Alexander  theory  protests  utterly  against  this  ancient  dogma 
of  the  prisoner's  slavery.  It  insists  that  the  State  cannot  righfuUy 
reduce  a  citizen  to  servitude  for  whatever  cause.  For  the  protection  of 
society  it  may  detain  him  in  custody  and  subject  him  to  the  restric- 
tions necessarily  involved  in  such  detention,  and  beyond  that  his 
rights  are  unimpaired.  Here  is  a  wide  departure  from  the  slavery 
theory. 

But  the  Alexander  theory  goes  further,  holding  that,  with  thcr 
exception  just  stated,  his  rights  are  unimpaired.  It  insists  that  he 
returns,  as  before  his  crime,  ;to  the  right  to  earn  his  living  or  not  get 
it.  His  freedom  involves,  as  it  always  did,  this  right  of  choice. 
Treating  him  thus,  you  treat  him,  not  as  a  slave,  but  as  a  man.  Self- 
interest  becomes  his  controlling  "ftiotive,  exactly  as  in  normal  life. 
To  say  that  men.  will  not  work  when  left  to  self-interest  is  shown  by 
universal  observation  to  be  an  at|surdity.  Besides,  whether  a  man 
will  earn  his  living  or  not  is  a  question  the  State  has  nothing  to  do 
with.  Each  man  decides  it,  and  has  a  right  to  decide  it,  for  himself, 
and  that,  too,  whether  in  prison  or  out  of  it.  It  is  the  duty  of  the 
State  to  allow  him  to  decide  it,  and  to  reap  the  consequence  of  his 
decision. 

Here  we  have  the  fundamental  idea  in  Mr.  Alexander's  theory  of 
prison  discipline.  Withdrawing  the  questing  entirely  from  the 
domain  of  sentiment,  by  opposing  at  once  the  vengeance  discipline 
and  the  reformative  discipline,  he  seeks  simply  the  protection  of 
society  and  attempts  the  attainment  of  that  end  by  means  that  are 
rational  and  just,  by  means  that  respect  scrupulously  the  prisoner's 
rights  and  society's  rights.  In  short,  his  theory  abolishes  slavery 
in  prisons. 

What  are  the  objections  to  it  .'*  We  have  heard  none,  and  we  believe 
there  are  none  that  are  valid.  We  believe  that  this  theory,  one  of 
whose  merits  is  its  simplicity,  furnishes .  the  solution  of  the  great 
-social  problem  of  prison  discipline.  If  time  shall  so  decide,  it  will 
be  a  scource  of  just  gratification  that  so  important  a  reform  had  its 
birth  in  Missouri.  XXXX. 


40 


PRISON  LIBRARIES. 


The  following  interesting  correspondence  on  the  subject  of  libraries 
for  ])risons  will  commend  and  explain  itself: — 

miss  gilbert  to  mr.  hepworth. 

Rev.  George  H.  Hepworth  : — 

Dear  Sir  : — I  desire  to  thank  you  for  the  kindly  interest  you  have 
shown  in  the  fate  of  the  criminals  of  this  country.  There  is  no  class 
concerning  whom  the  Christian  public  know  so  little,  and  this  is 
perhaps  the  reason  why  they  are  left  to  the  doubtful  mercy  of  circum- 
stances. 

My  object,  as  you  may  be  aware,  is  twofold.  In  the  first  place,  I 
am  very  anxious  to  furnish  every  fti\\  and  house  of  detention,  where 
men  and  women  who  are  more  or  less  criminal  are  confined,  with  a 
library.  Prisoners  have  nothing  to  look  at  but  the  blank  walls  of 
their  cells,  and  nothing  to  think  of  except  their  sins,  and  though  this 
latter  may  be  a  very  fruitful  theme,  it  is  not  always  a  profitable  one. 
They  would  gladly  read  good  works,  and  the  value  of  such  an  influence 
cannot  be  overestimated.  You  must  not  forget  that  a  man  who 
would  care  nothing  for  a  book  when  he  is  with  his  boon  companions, 
is  oftentimes  very  grateful  for  it  when  he  is  alone.  I  have  known 
cases  again  and  again,  where  men  have  not  only  been  brought  to 
repentance  for  the  past,  but  to  a  radical  reformation,  by  means  of  the 
few  books  and  pictures  to  which  they  have  had  access.  I  am  not 
asking  aid  to  try  an  experiment ;  I  am  seeking  help  to  put  a  plan 
into. operation,  the  value  of  which  has  been  fully  tested.  Libraries 
have  been  placed  in  the  Cook  County  Jail,  111. ;  the  St.  Louis  County 
Jail,  Mo. ;  the  Springfield  County  Jail,  111. ;  the  Chicago  House  of 
Detention ;  the  New  York  City  Tombs,  and  in  other  places  of  con- 
finement, and  it  is  the  unanimous  opinion  of  those  who  have  charge 
of  such  institutions,  that  these  libraries  have  made  it  easier  to  maintain 
discipline,  and  have  been  of  incalculable  benefit  in  other  ways.  My 
other  object  is  even  more  important,  and  is,  I  fear,  attended  by  serious 
difficulties.  I  have  found  many  a  golden  opportunity  to  afford  a 
released  prisoner   the  means  of  an  honest  livelihood.     They  ought 


41 

not  to  be  cut  off  from  all  hope,  and  yet  how  powerless  we  are  to  do 
them  good  !  They  come  out  from  the  routine  of  prison  life  into  tlie 
the  wild  whirl,  and  it  seems  as  though  every  man's  hand  were  against 
them.  God  help  them,  seems  to  be  all  we  can  say.  You  do  not 
doubt  that  this  state  of  things  is  wrong.  If  God  can  pity,  we  ought 
to  be  willing  to  forgive.  It  is,not  right  to  rob  even  a  criminal  of  his 
last  chance.  I  have  known  many  instances  in  which,  if  I  had 
possessed  the  requisite  funds,  I  could  have  insured  the  salvation 
of  many  men.  I  have  spent  very  largely  of  my  personal  income, 
for  I  dare  not  thrust  these  pitiable  creatures  out  on  the  cold  charity 
of  the  world.  If  some  of  the  wealthy  gentlemen  of  New  York 
would  consecrate  even  an  insignificant  portion  of  their  money  to 
this  object,  untold  good  might  be  accomplished.  I  have  great  hopes 
that  the  books  for  the  projected  libraries  will  be  furnished,  and  I 
am  not  without  faith  that  the  money  needed  will  be  forthcoming. 

Thanking  you  again  for  your  interest  in  the  cause,  I  remain. 

Very  truly  yours, 

New  York,  April  22,  1875.  Linda  Gilbert. 

HOW  TO  HELP  THE  PRISONERS. 

To  THE  Editor  of  the  Herald  : — 

If  you  will  allow  me  space,  I  should  like  to  make  an  appeal  to  the 
charitable  people  of  the  city  in  behalf  of  the  important  work  with 
which  Miss  Linda  Gilbert  is  identified.  That  work,  as  I  under- 
stand it,  is  twofold.  First,  she  desires  to  put  into  every  city  and 
county  jail  a  goo,d  library;  and,  second,  to  assist  those  whose  term 
of  service  has  expired.  To  those  who  have  never  looked  into  the 
matter  this  may  seem  to  indicate  fanaticism.  We  are  too  much 
inclined  to  give  evil-doers  over  to  their  fate.  Fair  women  deem  it 
ignoble  work  to  bring  any  Christian  influence  to  bear  on  our  crim- 
inals, and  honest  men  ignore  them  altogether.  The  consequence  is 
that  when,  even  under  the  tremendous  pressure  of  a  great  tempta- 
tion, a  man  commits  a  crime,  he  is  confined  in  prison  for  a  term  of 
years,  and  then  comes  out  to  find  that  practically  the  Christianity  of 
the  day  has  not  a  word  to  say  to  or  for  him.  As  the  world  runs  just 
now,  it  would  be  far  better  for  some  society  for  the  prevention  of 


42 

inhumanity  to  man  to  do  to  this  forlorn  and  liomeless  class  of  society 
what  Mr.  Bergh  did  to  the  dogs  of  New  York  last  summer.  He  very 
quietly  asphyxiated  them,  on  the  ground,  which  is  easily  defended, 
that  they  had  no  friends,  but  only  enemies,  and  that  if  let  loose  on  the 
community  they  would  inevitably  go  mad  and  cause  untold  misery. 
When  a  prisoner,  entombed  for  a  single-crime,  or  for  a  series  of  crimes, 
comes  from  his  confinement,  he  finds  that  he  has  not  a  single  right 
,which  any  man  is  bound  to  respect.  Every  one's  hand  is  against 
him ;  and  since  you  can  hardly  expect,  as  the  result  of  six  years  spent 
in  hard  labor  and  the  rigid  discipline  of  a  prison,  that  he  will  ardently 
forgive  this  state  of  things  and  be  honest  when  every  one  gives  him 
credit  for  villany,  he  is  practically  driven,  and  by  the  spirit  of  the 
age,  into  his  old  ways  if  he  is  a  man  of  many  sins,  or  into  evil  ways 
if  he  is  a  man  of  a  single  sin.  This  is  not  as  it  should  be„  I  am 
sure  that  the  Christian  people  of  New  York  are  more  than  willing 
to  co-operate  with  those  who  are  laboring  to  change  this  condition 
of  things.  Miss  Gilbert  has  accepted  her  mission  very  heartily,  and 
has  shown  her  earnestness  by  spending  a  considerable  part  of  her 
private  fortune  in  behalf  of  the  criminal.  She  says,  very  truly,  that 
the  men  who  are  confined  in  our  jails  and  houses  of  detention  have 
nothing  to  do  from  one  week  to  another  except  to  recall  past  crimes 
and  concoct  new  ones.  If  they  could  be  educated  by  a  good  library, 
untold  good  might  be  accomplished.  If  these  wretches  cannot  be 
ministered  to  by  spoken  words  of  encouragement  and  admonition, 
they  can  at  least  enjoy  the  ministration  of  the  printed  page.  To 
save  one  soul  by  such  means  is  worth  all  the  books  we  shall  ever 
give  for  this  object.  Let  me  then  make  this  praj::tical  suggestion. 
Every  one  who  reads  this  letter  has  from  one  to  many  scores  of 
good  and  strongly  bound  books,  which  are  of  no  particular  value, 
because  they  have  been  read.  They  may,  however,  be  put  to  a 
very  important  use.  The  library  in  the  Tombs  has  actually  made 
it  easier  to  enforce  discipline  in  that  prison.  The  inmates  read  with 
sharpened  appetites  and  great  gratitude.  The  libraries  which  have 
been  established  in  other  quarters  have  produced  like  results.  Let 
me  ask  you,  then,  to  co-operate  with  us  in  this  undertaking. 
Choose  from  your  library  as  many  volumes  as  you  can  easily  spare, 
and  send  them  to  my  residence,  No.  19  West  Forty-seventh  street, 


43 

or  to  my  church,  on  the  corner  of  Forty-fifth  street  and  Madison 
avenue,  and  I  will  see  that  they  get  into  the  hands  of  Miss  Gilbert. 
If  I  dared  I  would  also  ask  that  money  be  ient  for  the  same  purpose. 
But  as  I  am  too  poor  to  give  myself  I  hesitate  to  ask  others.  Both 
books  and  money,  however,  will  bo  gratefully"  received,  promptly 
acknowledged,  and  carefully  used.  I  am  only  too  glad  to  commend 
this  work  to  the  charitable,  and  subjoin  a  letter  lately  received  from 
Miss  Gilbert  in  corroboration  of  what  I  have  said  in  behalf  of  the 
criminals  of  America.  If  God  can  forgive  them,  we  can  at  least 
afford  to  pity  and  help  them.     I  am,  sincerely  yours, 

George  H.  Hepworth. 
New  York,  April  23,  1875. 


GOOD  AND  EVIL. 

Written  by  Miss  Gilbert  for  the  "  New  York  Era'.'' 

A  great  obstacle  ni  the  way  of  useful  reform  is  a  comparative 
ignorance — through  personal  unacquintance — about  the  actual  con- 
ditions and  workings  of  bur  criminal  institutions.  We  might  assert 
that  if  forensic  legislators  would  consider  it  their  duty  not  to  violate 
their  own  purpose  by  employing  the  very  means  they  are  intended 
to  abolish, — no  gallows,  no  whipping-posts,  no  ball  and  chains,  no 
Auburn  systems,  or  Tombs — no  !  no !  not  even  the  best  modern 
model  of  penitentiary  would  be  regarded  as  a  true  means  to  amelio- 
rate evils,  to  elevate  and  improve  our  race. 

The  special  discussion  of  this  question,  however,  will  be  reserved 
for  a  future  time.  It  is  very  easy  for  you,  respectable  citizen,  seated 
in  your  easy-chair,>  to  hold  forth  the  conduct  of  the  people ;  very 
easy  for  you  to  censure  their  vicious  habits ;  very  easy  for  you  to  be 
a  pattern  of  frugality,  of  rectitude  and  sobriety.  You  are  surrounded 
by  comforts,  possessing  multiplied  sources  of  lawful  happiness,  with 
reputation  and  a  clear  sky  in  the  future.  If  you  do  not  contract 
dissipated  habits,  where  is  your  merit }  You  have  indeed  few  incen- 
tives to  do  so.  But  where  would  your  prudence,  your  honesty,  your 
self-denials  be,  if  poverty  stared  you  in  thd^face,  if  your  friends  would 


44 

ridicule,  scorn  yoii,  or  perhaps  shut  the  door  in  your  face  when  you 
come  to  visit  them  ?  If  you  had  to  sleep  in  a  barn  or  in  a  police 
station  or  in  a  gutter,  or  had  to  walk  the  streets  of  New  York  city 
having  not  20  cents,  how  would  you  bear  it  ?  Lastly,  imagine  that 
seeing  your  capacities  were  but  ordinary,  your  education  next  to 
nothing,  and  your  competitors  innumerable — tell  me  where  are  the 
incentives  to  perseverance  and  forethought?  How  offensive  is  it  to 
hear  some  great  self-conceited  personage  thanking  God  that  he  is 
not  as  other  men  are,  passing  harsh  sentence  on  his  poor  pressed  and 
burdened  brother,  including  all  in  a  sweeping  condemnation,  because 
in  their  struggles  for  existence  they  do  not  maintain  the  same  prim 
respectability  as  himself.  There  is  nothing  more  irrational  and 
absurd  than  to  judge  as  to  motives  and  actions  from  the  outward 
appearance. 

To  understand  humanity  we  must  inquire  into  the  nature  of  its 
component  individuals;  and  thus  we  find  that  every  manifestation 
made  by  an  aggregation  of  men  originates  in  qualities  belonging  to 
the  individual  man.  Hence  the  origin  of  social  law  as  an  attempt 
to  secure  a  uniform  understanding  and  practical  embodiment  of  com- 
mon social  interests. 

.  All  evil  results  from  the  non-adaptation  of  constitution  to  conditions. 
This  is  true  of  every  living  thing.  A  plant,  if  placed  in  poor  soil, 
too  hot  or  too  cold  climate,  becomes  sickly  and  dies  out,  and  the 
reason  therefor  is,  because  the  harmony  between  the  plant's  organ- 
ization and  its  circumstances  has  been  destroyed.  Every  suffering 
incident  to  the  human  body — from  a  headache  up  to  a  fatal  illness, 
from  a  burn  or  sprain  to  accidental  loss  of  life — is  similarly  trace- 
able to  the  placement  of  the  body  under  unfavorable  conditions. 
Nor  is  evil  in  its  application  confined  to  the  physical ;  it  compre- 
hends also  the  moral  and  intellectual  possibilities.  Nevertheless, 
although  evil  is  made  manifest,  wherever  we  turn  our  attention, 
within  or  outside,  it  is  not  necessary  or  inevitable.  Evil  of  all  kinds 
is  avoidable.  But  the  presence  of  evil  is  necessary  in  order  that 
we  should  be  stimulated  to  discern  the  good.  Evil  is  expressly 
appointed  by  the  Maker.  Man  in  the  nature  of  things  must  over- 
come evil.  As  a  child  has  to  grow  in  physical  strength,  so  man  has 
to  grow  in  the  intellectual  and  moral.     We  must  adopt  the  appointed 


45 

means — ever  cultivating  good,  we  secure  goodness  to  ourselves. 
Unless  we  exercised  our  faculties,  they  would,  instead  of  increasing 
in  power,  become  weaker  until  we  lost  them  altogether.  We  are 
continually  required  to  use  our  powers  of  observation.  To  make 
a  false  step  in  our  walk  may  cost  a  broken  bone.  The  object  of 
evil  is  improvement.  We  are  continually  required  to  exert  our- 
selves in  order  to  maintain  the  observance  of  our  Maker's  rules,'  and 
it  is  the  only  sure  way  to  avoid  evil.  We  are  endowed  with  a  free, 
intelligent  will  which  we  are  expected  to  use.  It  is  by  exercise  of 
a  deliberate  choice  that  we  improve  ourselves.  By  the  constant  employ- 
ment of  the  faculty  of  our  private  judgment  we  strengthen  it,  as  we 
do  air  our  other  faculties,  whether  employed  for  good  or  evil,  and 
are  at  length  able  to  discern  the  true  way  of  life.  But  free  will, 
Avhile  it  is  a  great  and  noble  gift,  is  nevertheless  subjected  to  great 
responsibilities.  Wliile  we  have  freedom  to  choose  between  good  and 
evil,  we  are  expected,  as  far  as  our  judgment  goes,  to  choose  the 
tiood. 


HELL'S    HALF-ACRE. 

A  Visit  to  Calamity  Patch — Amid  the  Miscegenators — 
Squalor  and  Sin  and  Suffering — TyE  Wages  of  Sin — 
Fallen  from  Purity — The  Story  of  a  Life  of  Shame — 
Lobster  Cans  and  Old  Hoop-Skirts — Hot-Bed  of  Vice 
AND  Plague — A  Field  for  the  Philanthropic. 

"  It  is  called  '  Hell's  Half  Acre ;'  otherwise, '  The  Tunnel,'  otherwise, 
'  Calamity  Patch,'  "  said  Officer  Edward  Londergan,  96,  whom  Ser- 
geant Buckley  had  detailed  to  escort  two  Repitblican  reporters 
through  a  notorious  court  in  the  rear  of  Nos.  60  and  6  2  Griswold  street, 
facing  the  depot  of  the  Michigan  Southern  Railway. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day.  -The  wind  was  balm,  the  sky  a  molten 
sapphire,  flecked  with  occasional  pearl.  Leaving  behind  the  palaces 
of  trade  and  the  brilliant  streets — for  it  was  afternoon,  and  the  side- 
walks were  gay  with  fluttering  silks  and  flashing  gauds,  and  eyes 
brighter  still — in  one  moment  reporters  and  officer  had  struck  into 


46 

a  new  Avorld,  as  unlike  that  which  glittered  and  smiled  outside  as  the 
mysterious  depths  of  ocean  are  different  from  its  unruffled  surface. 
Dust,  crazy  side-walks;  sallow,  slipshod  women  shrieking  to  one 
another  across  the  street ;  hangdog  men,  guiltless  of  shirt-collar,  soap 
or  comb,  lounging  and  blinking  against  a  corner,  watching  the  stone- 
cutters who  chipped  busily  away — a  negress  in  a  tawdry  chintz  dress, 
wherein  yellow  sunflowers  strove  with  scarlet  cabbage-roses,  playing 
sign  board  at  the  door  of  a  dive — these  were  all  of  another 
world. 

Griswold  street  was  quiet.  Into  a  passage  some  six  feet  below  the 
street  led  the  officer.  Under  the  houses  were  heaps  of  filthy  straw, 
broken  bottles,  an  old  hoop  skirt,  a  tumulus  of  empty  lobster  cans. 

"Are  those  dust-heaps.''"  asked  our  reporter. 

"  Bless  you,  no,  those -are  beds,"  said  a  pleasant-faced  American 
lady,  a  resident  of  No.  60  Griswold  street.  "  They  are  here  by  dozens 
at  night.    .We  daren't  go  down-stairs  to  get  a  bucket  of  water." 

"  Do  they  sleep  here  V  asked  the  reporter. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  they  sleep,  judging  from  the  uproar.  They 
call  it  Hell's  Half  Acre,  but  it  is  more  like  the  whole  tract." 

Emerging  from  this  noisome  cavern,  a  narrow  court  still  more 
unsavory  is  entered.  The  ground  is  clammy  and  oozy  with  sewerage, 
because  the  drains  are  choked  or  the  people  too  lazy  to  use  them, 
so  that  all  the  offal  is  flung  from  the  windows  into  the  alley-way. 
Around  it  stand,  or,  *rather,  lean,  in  various  stages  of  dry-rot  and 
dilapidation,  half  a  dozen  houses  to  the  best  of  which  a  pig-stye  is 
palatial. 

Rotten  stairways,  propped  on  mossy  poles  and  drenched  with  filth, 
conduct  to  doors  hanging  by  one  rusty  hinge.  Windows  of  all  sizes, 
more  or  less  awry,  filled  with  everything  but  glass,  the  paint  blistered, 
peer  in  every  direction.  Each  has  a  wondering  face  set  in  it.  On 
one  sill  sits  cooing  a  pigeon,  the  sun  playing  on  the  amber  ripples 
of  its  throat.  On  one  doorstep  sits  a  fat  negress,  with  ample  bosom, 
girded  round  her  waist,  an  orange  turban  and  a  dingy  calico  robe. 
She  has  a  briar-root  pipe  in  her  mouth  which  she  puffs  contentedly. 
As  she  sits  there,  rolling  her  white  eyes  and  with  her  oily  skin  shining 
in  the  sunlight,  she  looks  like  a  picture  out  of  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 

"  Well,  aunty,"  says  the  reporter,  "  how  much  rent  do  you  pay.?" 


47 

"  Six  dollars,  sah." 

"  How  many  of  you  are  there  in  that  house?" 

"  Dare's  eleven,  sah.  Our  landlord's  name  is  Avery.  Massa  Hoff- 
man used  to  own  dis  place.  Golly,  I  guess  it  pays.  '  Bout  seventy- 
five  of  us  live  here,"  and  she  laughs  the  traditional  negro  yah ! 
yah  ! 

Beside  her,  in  a  shabby  petticoat  built  out  of  a  salt  bag,  and  with 
a  yellow  bedgown  showing  her  yellow  bosom,  her  hair  cut  short  and 
falling  over  her  vacant  eyes,  her  hands  locked  round  her  knees, 
rocking  herself  to  and  fro  and  croning  some  monotonous  song,  sits 
an  old  and  withered  woman.  She  has  seven  children.  Born  in 
Kentuck.  Name's  Brown.  Guesses  she's  a  sort  of  French-nigger- 
Indian.  Husband.''  Yes.  Where  is  he.''  How  in  h — should  she 
know.?  Pays  $2.50  rent.  Chores  round  a  bit  when  she's  well.  Been 
in  the  poor-house  two  months,  and  just  come  out  to  have  a  smell  of 
fresh  air. 

Here  aunty,  undulating  with  a  chuckle,  observes  that  dat  old  '00- 
man's  got  a  black  man, — yah,  yah, — all  the  white  trash  roun'  hyah  got 
black  men.  We  leave  her  quivering  like  a  mould  of  sable  jelly,  and 
enter  one  of  the  houses. 

Here  is  a  case  for  Miss  Gilbert. 

Anonyma  in  literature — call  her  Aspasia,  Skittles,  Higgles,  the 
Lady  of  the  Hut,  what  you  will — has  about  her  a  halo  and  a  perfume 
of  romance.  She  is  young,  handsome,  witty,  wilful;  she  puffs  a 
cigarette  gracefully,  quaffs  beaded  Moselle,  weeps  when  she  thinks 
of  her  mother,  and  her  lustrous  eyes  dilate  like  those  of  a  beautiful 
tigress  when  the  betrayer  of  her  innocence  rides  past  with  the 
Bishop's  daughter,  on  his  way  to  the  altar.  Cant  and  delusion, 
which  do  more  than  even  the  Tribune  "  personals  "  to  fill  the  stews 
of  the  great  city  with  haggard  incarnations  of  disease  in  paint  and 
tawdry  finery.  Into  this  room  let  us  enter.  Its  furniture  is  a 
bottomless  chair,  a  bucket,  a  stove,  red  with  rust,  a  broken  trunk, 
and  a  bed.  On  this  is  a  mattress  and  a  brown  blanket,  both  greasy 
from  long  use.  In  this  bed  lies  a  woman,  with  a  peaked  and  sal- 
low face,  and  neglected  hair  round  it,  like  so  much  oakum.  One 
arm  and  a  thin  shoulder  can  be  seen.     She  is  naked. 

The  room  is  about  ten  feet  by  twelve.     Its  plastering  is  brown 


48 

with  filth,  where  it  has  not  fallen  away.  Daylight  breaks  in  here 
and  there  through  the  crazy  walls,  which  are  alive  with  vermin. 
Two  slimy  boards  form  a  sink,  on  which  are  placed  a  coal-oil  lamp, 
with  a  chimney  three  parts  paper,  and  a  broken  pitcher  containing 
about  half  a  pint  of  milk  and  cockroaches. 

The  floor  is  spread  with  ragged  mattings  from  tea  chests. 

The  outer  room  is  somewhat  elaborately  ornamented.  There  are 
upon  the  walls  two  sheets  of  photographs  from  the  show-window  of 
an  abandoned  artist,  a  protrait  of  Lincoln,  the  battle  ,of  Gravelotte, 
cut  from  an  illustrated  weekly,  and  two  glazed  and  illuminated 
cards  of  popular  bitters.  A  slouched  hat  and  ragged  coat  are 
beside  them.  On  the  bed  is  a  jaunty  hat  and  white  feather.  Beside 
it,  an  old  hoopskirt  rampant  on  a  pile  of  lobster-cans  and  sardine- 
boxes.  This  room  is  occupied  by  Jenny  Edwards,  a  thin,  sharp- 
featured  girl,  whose  hair  is  combed  back  from  her  face  till  her  eye- 
brows run  into  her  scalp,  Chinese  fashion.  She  wears  a  faded 
blue  and  orange  dressing-gown,  and  says  she  has  come  down  here 
to  nurse  Em. 

Em.  is  the  sick  woman  in  the  other  room. 

"I  saw  that  sick  woman,"  said  the  officer,  "not  six  months  ago, 
and  she  had  a  gold  watch  and  a  silk  dress,  and  a  fan  all  trimmed 
with  feathers.     Such  is  life." 

The  sick  woman  speaks  in  a  husky  whisper,  inaudible  at  a  distance 
of  three  feet.  Her  name  is  Anna  Banks,  she  says.  The  girls  call 
her  Em.  That  isn't  her  right  name.  That  is  Augusta  Dove — 
D-o-v-e  is  the  way  to  spell  it.  Born  at  Rockford ;  father  lives  there. 
Just  20  years  old  last  February — February  16.  Sick .?  Yes  for  a 
month.  Had  chills  and  fever  first,  then  got  over  that  and  had  cold 
on  the  lungs.  A  child  .^  Yes.  Born  last  Tuesday  morning  at  4 
o'clock  ;  died  soon  after.  Know  it  was  born  alive,  for  it  screamed. 
Ed.  Paton  and  Casey  took  away  the  body  and  sold  it.  Casey  lives 
on  Dearborn  street.  The  Doctor  (Dr.  B.  C.  Miller,  County  Physi- 
cian) left  an  order  to  take  her  to  the  hospital.  Do  you  gentlemen 
think  they'll  come  to  take  me.''     My  God!  I'm  tired  o'  lyin'  here. 

We  ascertain  that  she  has  been  living  for  the  past  year  with  a 
colored  man  named  Will  Banks.  She  has  been  on  the  street  for  three 
years,  and  went  to  Champagne  City  last  summer  to  work.     Got  into 


49 

this  trouble  there  with  her  employer's  son,  and  so  had  to  f:ome  back 
to  Chicago. 

Some  of  the  women  who  play  at  Magdalen  Homes,  and  Female 
Suffrage,  and  similar  ddassements^  should  stand  by  this  bedside.  No 
tinsel  romance  here.  Dirt,  and  vice,  and  stark  sin.  A  girl  of  twenty 
as  old  in  the  face  as  a  woman  of  forty,  lying  naked  in  a  bed  reeking 
with  malodors  and  crawling  vermin,  the  consort  of  a  negro  who  ran 
away  with  her  few  articles  of  tawdry  finery;  with  neighbors  who 
steal  and  sell  the  corpse  of  a  child  for  whiskey,  with  parents  living, 
and  yet  with  not  one  attendant  save  a  sister  in  sin  and  shame.  Miss 
Gilbert  has  work  here. 

Look  out  of  the  window.  The  sweet,  pure  air  and  the  calm,  blue 
sky  above  and  around.  Right  across  the  way  the  massive  walls  of 
the  station,  where  a  thousand  travelers  for  business  or  pleasui-e  alight 
daily.  How  little  they  think,  in  the  palace  car,  of  the  misery  and 
degradation  within  a  stone's  cast ! 

Out  into  the  fresh  air  again,  and  a  loud  cackling  of  cocks  and 
hens,  disturbed  by  the  foray  of  a  negro  pickaninny  in  a  stove-pipe 
hat,  a  coat  whose  tails  sweep  the  ground,  and  a  pair  of  trousers  so 
ragged  that  the  elbows  of  his  shirt  hang  out  through  the  knees  there- 
of. Stumble  over  a  pile  of  lobster-cans.  Why  is  it  that  in  the  very 
citadel  of  poverty  one  always  comes  across  lobster-tins  ! 

We  enter  another  house.  Its  occupant  is  a  bold-faced  woman, 
owning  to  28  years.  Her  name  is  Moll  Coffee,  and  the  officer  says 
it  takes  three  to  carry  her  into  the  lock-up — kicks  and  bites,  you 
know.  Her  house,  or  rather  room,  is  neater  than  the  others.  Things 
have  been  tidied  up;  a  looking-glass  hangs  between  a  beer-mug 
and  a  hair  brush,  and  the  mantel  is  covered  with  a  copy  of  the 
Tribune  scalloped  with  a  rude  attempt  at  regularity  of  ornamentation. 
A  man  wrapped  in  a  dingy  blanket  lies  on  the*  bed,  and  hides  his 
face  as  we  enter.  A  crutch  standing  by  the  bedside  proclaims  him 
a  cripple.  He  isn't  her  man,  Moll  explains;  her  man  is  "Prince." 
Don't  we  know  "Prince .?"  He's  cook  at  the  Bridewell.  She  says 
"  Prince  "  gave  her  an  awful  thrashing  yesterday,  which  she  didn't 
deserve,  because  she  wasn't  drunk.  Says  she  was  a  good  woman 
once — "Very  long  ago,"  interjects  the  officer — has  a  son  in  the 
bootblack  brigade.  Pays  $4  for  her  room.  Hates  to  live  in  this  yard 
4 


50 

because  the  minute  any    one  says  a  word  everybody  runs  for  de 
cops. 

Out  again  into  the  air,  thrice  welcome  after  the  fetid  warmth  we 
have  been  inhaling,  past  a  scrofulous,  bald-headed  child  with  one  eye, 
and  out  into  the  street.  The  roaring  city,  with  its  splendor  and 
wealth,  is  before  us,  and  the  misery  of  Hell's  Half  Acre  is  a  memory 
of  the  past. 


THE  PICKPOCKET'S   PETITION. 

"  A  Pickpocket  "  writes  to  the  New  York  Tribune  as  follows  : 
Please  advise  your  readers  always  to  leave  their  names  and  addresses 
in  their  pocket-books.  It  frequently  happens  in  our  business  that 
we  come  in  possession  of  porte-monnaies  containing  private  papers 
and  photographs  which  we  would  be  glad  to  return,  but  we  have  no 
means  of  doing  so.  It  is  dangerous  to  carry  them  about — so  we 
are  forced  to  destroy  them.  I  remember  an  instance  where  I  met 
with  serious  trouble  because  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to 
destroy  a  picture  of  a  baby  which  I  had  found  in  the  pocket-book 
of  a  gentleman  which  came  into  my  hands  in  the  way  of  business 
on  the  Third  avenue  road.  I  had  lost  a  baby  myself,  the  year  before, 
of  the  same  age  as  this  one,  and  I  would  have  given  all  I  had  for 
such  a  picture.  There  was  no  name  in  the  porte-monnaie,  and  no 
w^ay  of  finding  out  who  was  the  owner,  so,  like  a  fool,  I  advertised 
it,  and  got  shadowed  for  it  by  the  police.  Tell  your  readers  to  give 
us  a  fair  show  to  be  decent — and  always  leave  their  addresses  in 
their  pocket-books.     We  want  to  live  and  let  live. 


51 


BEHIND   THE   BARS, 

Inauguration  of  the  Prisoners'  Library — An  Interesting 
Occasion  in  the  County  Jail — What  a  Noble  Woman's 
Noble   Pfforts   Have   Accomplished. 

About  five  hundred  and  fifty  persons  assembled  at  the  Four  Courts, 
last  night,  to  witness  the  opening  and  dedication  of  the  County  Jail 
library.  The  founder,  Miss  Linda  Gilbert,  has  by  great  zeal  and 
industry  gathered  together  about  eighteen  hundred  volumes,  which 
are  neatly  arranged  in  a  large  and  handsome  case,  provided  by  the 
County  court.  The  library  case  is  placed  on  the  North  side  of  the 
rotunda,  inside  of  the  inclosure,  and  facing  the  cells.  Near  the  book 
case  is  a  melodeon  with  the  inscription,  "  Presented  by  Dr.  J.  H. 
McLean  to  the  Gilbert  library.  " 

The  evening's  exercises  were  opened  with  prayer  by  Rev.  Dr. 
Burlingham. 

Rev.  J.  L.  Holland,  of  St.  George's  church,  then  read  the  follow- 
ing letter  from  Miss  Gilbert : 

St.  Louis,  March  lo,   1873. 
Rev.   J.    L.    Holland  : 

Sir  : — In  tendering  you  the  guardianship  of  the  Prisoners'  library^ 
at  the  Four  Courts,  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  I  bestow  all  in  my  power  that 
can  approximate  to  my  belief  in  your  God-given  energy  and  capacity, 
united  to  a  heart  naturally  sym'pathetic  towards  mankind. 

At  an  epoch  when  opinions  are  heard  clashing  on  every  side, 
strong,  true  and  brave  men  are  needed  to  guide  God's  humanity  into 
the  haven  of  eternal  peace. 

In  your  fearless  championship  of  the  erring,  may  their  blessings 
illumine  the  banner  which  you  wear  through  "the  battle  of  life,"  as 
you  pass  on,  and  resign  your  stewardship  to  the  Infinite   Father. 
Most  respectfully,  Linda    Gilbert. 

Dr.  Holland  remarked  that  he  felt  embarrassed  in -reading  a  com- 
munication thus  addressed  to  him.  He  accepted  the  guardianship 
'of  the  library,  and  hoped  to  have  a  helping  hand  from  the  people  of 
St.  Louis.  He  recognized  in  every  man,  no  matter  whether  in  or 
out  of  prison,  a  brother.     Though  charged  with  crime  and  incarcer- 


52 

ated  in  a  prison  cell,  he  had  the  instincts  of  man.  For  himself,  he 
was  actuated  by  this  principle  of  love  for  humanity,  and  the  erring 
were  entitled  to  the  heartfelt  sympathy  of  every  man.  Even  for  the 
prisoner  there  was  a  future,  that  might  be  of  a  useful  character,  and 
it  was  not  impossible  for  reforms  to  take  place.  Society  was  rapidly 
changing  its  views  upon  the  subject  of  recognizing  and  aiding  the 
erring  to  reform.  While  the  law  was  none  the  less  strict,  the  public 
mind  was  becoming  more  charitable  in  this  regard.  He  told  the 
prisoners  that  the  library  had  been  provided  for  their  use  by  Miss 
Gilbert,  after  much  labor,  and  trusted  that  they  would  derive  much 
pleasure  and  profit  from  reading  the  books  contained  in  it. 

Judge  Cullen  remarked  that  it  was  the  curse  of  men  to  err,  but 
that  no  man  was  guilty  until  proven  so.  Although  the  strong  arm 
of  the  law  must  be  laid  heavily  upon  men,  yet  they  were  entitled  to 
sympathy  in  the  hours  of  misery,  the  result  of  strong  temptation. 
He  hoped  that  those  who  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  behind  the 
bars  would,  enjoy  many  pleasant  hours  from  perusing  the  books  so 
kindly  provided  for  them. 

Rev.  Father  O'Reilly  followed  in  a  feeling  address  of  a  few  mo- 
ments. He  said  that  those  who  committed  sin  were  the  slaves  of 
sin ;  that  all  men  were  virtually  prisoners,  and  must  have  the  aid 
and  sympathy  of  all  benevolent  and  Christian  men.  Let  us  give 
them  all  the  help  they  need — our  sympathy,  our  love,  good  books 
to  read,  and  then  the  poor,  erring  men  would  feel  that  they  were 
not  entirely  forsaken.  His  remarks  were  very  appropriate,  and 
loudly  applauded. 

Dr.  Burlingham  said  that  humanity  and  Christianity  presented  no 
bar  to  the  sympathies  of  men  for  their  erring  brethren.  While  his 
feelings  revolted  against  crime,  the  accused  had  claims  upon  his 
regards,  his  prayers,  and  his  endeavors  to  ameliorate  their  loneliness 
in  prison.  When  the  library  scheme  was  presented,  he  embraced  it 
as  one  means  of  doing  the  sinning  men  good,  and  he  was  glad  there 
was  one  woman  who  had  courage  to  begin  the  noble  work.  Miss 
Gilbert  had  done  this,  and  had  accomplished  it  nobly. 

At  the  close  of  Dr.  Burlingham's  remarks,  E.  A.  Garlick,  an  in- 
mate of  the  prison,  who  is  awaiting  trial  for  obtaining  baggage  from 
the  North  Missouri  Railroad  on  false  checks,  volunteered  to  play  a 


53 

piece  or  two  on  the  organ.  He  was  let  out,  and  taking  his  seat  at 
the  instrument,  played  one  or  two  pieces  very  well. 

An  anonymous  speaker  was  then  announced.  Taking  his  position 
in  the  dark,  on  the  stairway  .leading  to  the  main  building,  he 
addressed  himself  to  the  prisoners.  He  besought  them  to  think  well 
of  what  was  being  done  for  them,  and  of  the  noble  lady  who  had 
labored  to  provide  them  with  a  libarry. 

Ex-Mayor  Cole  was  called  out,  and  said  he  represented  the  mer- 
chants of  the  city,  a  class  always  ready  to  lend  a  hand  to  help  any 
noble  enterprise.  This  was  an  object  that  should  be  dear  to  the 
hearts  of  all.  Time  was  when  to  attempt  such  an  enterprise  would 
have  been  the  death-knell  of  the  getter-up ;  but  now  there  was  some- 
thing noble  in  it,  and  it  would  meet  with  the  approbation  of  all 
good  citizens.  He  then  offered  a  resolution  voting  the  thanks  of  the 
prisoners  and  all  the  citizens  of  St.  Louis  county  to  Miss  Linda  Gil- 
bert for  her  efforts  in  establishing  and  so  successfully  inaugurating 
the  prisoners'  library.     The  resolution  was  adopted  by  acclamation. 

The  music  for  the  evening  was  furnished  by  Mr.  Babcock,  organist, 
and  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McLean,  Mr.  Vail,  Miss  Belle  Johnson  and 
Miss  Julia  Hart.  The  choir  sang  "  Home  Again,"  and  the  dox- 
ology,  and  after  the  benediction  by  Dr.  Holland,  the  assembly  with- 
drew. 

In  front  of  the  cell  occupied  by  Anton  Holm,  the  wife  murderer, 
was  placed  a  large  bouquet,  but  whence  it  came  was  not  known. 

The  prisoners  apparently  enjoyed  the  occasion,  and  it  was  cer- 
tainly a  grateful  relief  from  the  dreary  monotony  of  prison  life. 


REPORT    OF 

MISS     GILBERT'S     WORK     IN     NEW     YORK     CITY. 

THE  GILBERT  LIBRARY   AND  PRISONERS*  AID  FUND. 

My  work  in  New  York  began  September  i,  1873;  since  that 
time  to  this  date,  I  have  received  from  the  public  cash  and  books 
as  follows : 


54 

Cash  collected  in  amounts  ranging  from  50  cents  to  $5,     .        $1,425  00 
Cash  received  from  Wm.  H.  Aspinwall,  Esq.,         .         .  50  00 

Total  Cash  received, $i,475  00 

Number  of  Books  donated,     ,         .       ' .         .         .         .        692  volumes. 

The  number  of  released  prisoners  whom  I  have  aided  is  as  fol- 
lows : 

Furnished  employment  to 113 

"           clothing  to 04 

"           railroad  tickets  to 32 

"                   "      passes  to 13 

"           night  lodgings             87 

Total,  ........  33g 

Other  services  rendered  incurring  an  outlay  of  money : 

Soap  bought  and  taken  to  cefls,  5  boxes. 

Fruit,  flowers  and  medicines  to  at  least  50. 

Letters  written  to  more  than  600  prisoners. 

Stationery  provided  for  more  than  100  prisoners. 

Number  of  Books  purchased.         .  .  .  1,418  volumes. 

LIBRARIES     ESTABLISHED. 

At  the  City  Tombs,  a  Library  of        .         .         .         .  1,500  volumes. 

At  the  House  of  Detention,  a  Library  of        .         .         .         600  volumes. 
At  Ludlow  St.  Jail,  a  Library  of 1,080  volumes. 

Through  my  instrumentality,  Mr.  Stokes  has  placed  a  library  in 
"  Sing  Sing "  for  female  prisoners.  I  have  on  hand  300  volumes, 
forming  a  nucleus  of  a  Library  for  the  boys  of  the  "  National  School 
Ship  Mercury. '\ 

The  total  amount  of  my  expenditures  for  the  benefit  of  others 
in  New  York  is  -  -  -  -  -         $3,644.30 

This  does  not  include  one  dollar  of  my  personal  expenses,  which 
for  various  reasons  have  been  large. 

The  practicability  of  reforming  criminals  is  proven  often  enough 
to  cheer  the  earnest  toiler  in  life's  rugged  path,  and  to  convince  the 
incredulous  that  total  depravity  rarely,  if  ever,  exists. 

Donations  of  money,  books,  and  clothing  may  be  sent  to  Rev. 
George  H.  Hepworth,  or  to   his  Church,  corner  45th  Street  and 


55 

Madison  Avenue  ;  also  to  Rev.  Dr.  Deems,  Church  of  the  Strangers, 
Winthrop  Place,  or  to  Linda  Gilbert. 

My  books  are  always  open  for  the  inspection  of  all  interested  in 
this  work,  and  to  all  who  contribute.     Respectfully, 

Linda  Gilbert, 
No.  143  East  15th  Street. 


REPORT    OF 

MISS  GILBERT'S  WORK  IN  OTHER  STATES. 

LIGHT  FOR  THE  DUNGEONS LITERATURE  FOR  THE  PRISONERS. 

Miss  Linda  Gilbert  has  for  a  long  time  been  endeavoring  to  improve 
the  condition  of  the  prisons  and  houses  of  detention  throughout  the 
United  States,  with  what  success  the  following  list  of  libraries  already 
established  will  show : 

Cook  County  Jail,  111. 
St.  Louis  County  Jail,  Mo. 
Springfield  County  Jail,  111. 
Chicago  House  of  Detention. 
N.  Y.  City  Tombs. 
N.  Y.  House  of  Detention. 
N.  Y.  Ludlow  St.  Jail. 
These  libraries  consist  of  from  1,500  to  2,000  volumes  each. 
She  has  also  succeeded  in  procuring  situations  on  farms  for  450 
released  prisoners,  some  of  whom  have  been  in  their  homes  three  or 
four  years. 

Donations  of  money,  books,  and  clothing  are  solicited  to  forward 
this  great  work  of  prison  reform. 

EXTRACTS    FROM    THE  PRESS. 

Neiv  York  Sun. — A  glorious  Easter  in  the  City  Prison.  The 
dawn  of  a  new  era  in  felon  life. 

St.  Louis  Republican. — Prisoners  languish  in  jails  and  peniten- 
tiaries through  days,  weeks,  months,  and  years  of  solitude,  when  their 
minds  are  ripe  to  receive  good  impressions,  and  yet  the  golden  op- 


5(' 

portiinity  is  wasted,  the  best  and  surest  road  to  reach  the  conscience  is 
unused.  With  nothing  to  occupy  his  mind,  the  prisoner  is  left  to 
brood  uninterruptedly  over  his  fancied  wrongs,  and  little  good  ever 
comes  of  it,  but  rather  a  growth  of  bad  resolutions  and  bad  purposes. 
Miss  Gilbert  has  determined  to  put  good  books  into  the  hands  of  pris- 
oners, and  thus  attack  evil  natures  at  their  most  vulnerable  point. 
JVe7C'  York  Herald^  speaking  of  the  New  York  City  Tombs  Library, 
dedicated  Sunday,  April  5,  1874,  says:  We  hope  this  is  only  a 
nucleus  of  a  large  collection,  whereby  the  weary  hours  of  prison  life 
may  be  beguiled  by  instructive  and  profitable  reading. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  tliat  the  citizens  of  New  York  will  see  the  neces- 
sity of  this  movement,  and  respond  to  this  call  with  a  hearty  good 
will. 

Donations  of  Books  may  be  sent  to 

Rev.  Doctor  Deems,  Church  of  the  Strangers, 

No.  4  Winthrop  Place. 
(Open  from.  10  to  12  a.m.,  and  2  to  4  p.m.) 
Donations  and  subscriptions  may  also  be  sent  to  the  office. 
Address, 

Miss  Linda  Gilbert,  143  E.  15th  St.,  New  York. 


RULES    AND    REGULATIONS 
that  govern  each  library. 
Gilbert  Library  for  the    Benefit  of  the  Inmates  of  New 
York  City  Tombs. 
I. — A   book   may  be  retained  one  week;  but  a  second  volume 
cannot  be  taken  until  the  first  one  has  been  returned. 

II. — Persons  taking  out  books  must  be  careful  not  to  mark  or  soil 
the  same  in  any  way ;  if  they  violate  this  rule,  they  forfeit  the  privi- 
leges and  benefits  of  the  Library. 

III. — In  reading,  as  in  everything,  remember  not  Jiont  rnuch^  hut 
hmv  well  you  read.  It  is  better  to  read  little  and  think  more  than 
to  read  much  and  think  little. 

This  Library  is  called  "  Gilbert  Library  "  by  request  of  friends. 
March  7,  1874. 


57 


THE  OUTCAST. 

The  following  poem  is  taken  from  "  Recollections  of  a  Policeman," 
by  E.  H.  Savage,  Chief  of  Boston  police  force.  It  was  written  by  a 
young  girl  while  in  one  of  the  cells  of  the  station  house.  She  thought 
herself  dying  that  night,  and  really  soon  after  died.  The  poem  was 
found  in  her  cell,  written  with  pencil  on  a  piece  of  paper. 

And  is  this  New  Year's  Eve,  mother  ? 

O  mothei-,  can  it  be  ?    • 
Oh  !  what  a  sad,  sad  change,  mother, 

This  year  hath  wrought  in  me. 

Last  year  there  was  no  lighter  step, 

There  was  no  brighter  eye. 
There  was  no  merrier  heart  than  mine — 

Now,  mother,  what  am  I  ? 

A  theme  for  every  idle  jest  ; 

Sunk  lower  than  the  slave — 
With  blighted  name,  and  broken  heart, 

And  very  near  my  grave. 

For  I  feel  my  days  are  numbered. 

My  life  is  waning  fast 
And  the  thought  is  strong  within  me 

That  this  night  will  be  my  last. 

'Tis  just  two  years  ago  to-day 

Since  Mary  Ann  was  laid, 
Amid  the  tears  of  young  and  old, 

Beneath  the  churchyard  shade. 

How  sad  we  thought  the  fate  was 

Of  one  so  young  and  gay 
To  die  thus  in  the  morn  of  life. 

And  on  her  marriage  day  ; 

But  now  I  envy  her  her  doom. 

What  joy  for  you  and  me. 
If  I  had  died  then,  mother, 

When  innocent  and  free. 

Ere  I  became  what  I  am  now : 
The  saddest  thing  in  life — 


58 

Fallen,  deserted,  and  betrayed — 
A  mother,  not  a  wife. 

Of  a  group  of  lads  and  lassies 
Methinks  I  caught  a  glance — 

My  old  companions,  and  they  all 
Just  being  to  the  dance. 

And  they  will  pass  the  night  away 

In  noisy  mirth  and  glee  ; 
While  the  shelter  of  a  prison  home 

Alone  remains  for  me. 

I  know  how  oft  you  warned  me,  mother, 
How  oft  you  spoke  the  truth  : 

That  village  girls  were  seldom  wed 
By  high  and  noble  youth. 

I  thought  of  the  many  tales  I  had  read 
And  of  the  songs  I  had  sung  ; 

How  noble  men  loved  lowly  maids, 
If  beautiful  and  young. 

I  think  I  was  bewitched,  mother, 
By  the  light  of  those  dark  eyes. 

The  murmured  vows  of  tenderness, 
And  all  those  flattering  lies. 

I  had  scorn  enough  for  others 
Who  sought  to  win  my  love  ; 

But  he  seemed  to  my  unpractised  eye 
As  guileless  as  a  dove. 

But  judge  him  not  too  harshly,  mother. 

Though  I  so  sad  beguiled. 
Although  he  strives  to  blight  my  name. 

And  will  not  own  his  child. 

But  time  may  come  when  he  will  feel 

His  need  to  be  forgiven, 
And  you  will  forgive  him  for  my  sake. 

When  I  am  gone  to  heaven. 

Oh  !  how  we  mourned  when  father  died. 
But  then  'twas  well  'twas  so  ; 


59 

He  never  could  have  borne  with  me 
As  you  have  done,  I  know. 

He  was  so  good,  so  just  himself. 

He  could  not  understand 
The  temptations  that  beset  the  weak, 

The  snares  on  every  hand. 

But  you  have  been  so  kind,  mother, 
Although  I  have  disgraced  your  name; 

You  soothed  me  in  my  sorrow, 
Nor  spoke  a  word  of  blame. 

And  He  will  sure  reward  you 

Who  said  to  one  of  yore, 
"  Neither  do  I  condemn  you.  daughter, 

Go,  and  sin  no  more." 

I  should  have  been  a  solace,  mother, 

In  your  declining  years  ; 
I  should  have  wrought  your  comfort,  mother- 

I  have  only  brought  you  tears. 

But  you  will  keep  my  baby,  mother, 

And  rear  her  as  your  own ; 
May  she  repay  you  better,  mother, 

Than  ever  I  have  done. 

Poor  babe,  she  has  her  father's  smile, 

His  bright  and  beaming  eye ; 
Had  she  the  right  to  bear  his  name, 

How  peaceful  could  I  die  ! 

Some  there  may  be  who'll  not  regret 

That  I  am  brought  so  low, 
And  I  was  proud  and  haughty  then, 
But  I  am  humble  now. 

I  prized  too  much  my  beauty 
Which  so  fully  proved  my  bane, 

I  scorned  the  honest  and  the  true, 
Who  offered  me  their  name. 

And  now  they  will  not  speak  to  me  ; 
They  think  I  am  so  vile. 


6o 

But  pass  me  with  a  meaning  look, 
And  with  a  mocking  smile. 

'Tis  very  hard,  perhaps  'tis  right, 

But  still  I  think  I  know, 
Had  they  but  borne  what  I  have  borne, 

I  could  not  treat  them  so.  , 

And  now  good  night,  dear  mother, 

I  hope  that  ere  the  sun 
Sheds  its  first  ray  to-morrow  morn 

My  troubles  will  be  done. 

And  do  not  weep  for  me,  mother, 
When  I  have  left  you  here : 

Within  a  peaceful  dwelling-place 
Will  dawn  my  next  New  Year. 


A  MODERN  JAIL. 

The  mode  of  treating  debtors  and  witnesses  and  such  like  parties 
in  Ludlow-street  Jail,  New  York,  is  not  only  a  standing  scandal  to  all 
modern  professions  of  humanity  and  justice,  but  so  decided  an  out- 
rage in  itself  that  we  wonder  there  is  not  a  physical  revolt  of  society 
against  the  continuance  of  its  abuses.  Any  man  can  be  arrested 
on  bare  suspicion  of  a  creditor,  let  the  debt  be  as  small  as  it  may, 
and  on  his  single  assertion,  in  the  form  of  testimony,  be  thrown 
into  Ludlow-street  Jail.  The  worst  of  it  is,  this  is  not  the  end  of  it. 
As  soon  as  the  other  creditors  know  what  has  been  done,  they  start 
up  and  rush  around  the  doomed  victim  like  a  pack  of  ravening 
wolves,  put  all  his  business  into  the  hands  of  the  sheriff,  destroy 
his  prospects  and  clean  him  out  pretty  thoroughly  before  he  regains 
his  freedom.  Such  an  instance  has  recently  been  brought  to  light 
in  New  Y&rk  by  the  death  of  a  man  who,  because  one  of  his  small- 
est creditors  acquired  a  notion  that  he  intended  to  leave  the  coun- 
try, procured  the  poor  man's  immediate  arrest  and  incarceration, 
and  let  him  free  himself  after  a  long  time,  only  to  find  that  his 
affairs  were  all  gone  to  destruction.     The  sheriff's  sale  had  stripped 


6i 

him  in  the  two  weeks  of  his  involuntary  incarceration.  With  but 
a  feeble  constitution,  his  occupation  gone,  his  spirits  sanl^,  his  health 
gave  way,  and  in  a  short  time  he  was  in  his  grave,  leaving  a  family 
without  provision.  The  ca::'j  of  another  of  the  unfortunate  inmates 
of  this  same  Ludlow-street  Jail  is  given  in  this  wise :  A  man  was 
seized  and  carried  away  from  his  wife  and  family,  on  a  charge  of 
having  assumed  to  be  the  proprietor  of  a  sewing-machine,  which, 
according  to  the  contract,  was  to  remain  at  the  disposal  of  the 
maker  until  the  last  instalment  should  have  been  paid.  Another 
case  was  that  of  a  man  who  had,  with  perfectly  good  intentions, 
indorsed  a  note  for  a  friend,  but  because  he  was  not  able  to  pay, 
was  torn  from  his  bride  and  a  position  that  paid  him  two  thousand 
dollars  a  year.  What  happened  to  the  maker  of  the  unpaid  note 
does  not  appear.  Another  stated  that  he  had  been  pounced  upon 
by  his  creditors  without  the  slighest  hint  of  their  intention,  and  in 
Consequence  his  wife  and  three  children  were  driven  from  a  respect- 
able home  to  become  the  occupants  of  a  wretched  tenement,  where 
they  did  what  they  could  to  eke  out  a  living  by  making  wax  flowers 
for  milliners.  Said  the  poor  victim — "  If  they  had  only  given  me  a 
chance,  I  would  have  paid  them  all ;  but  now  I  am  utterly  broken 
down,  and  can  never  hope  to  recover  my  former  position  in  society." 
So  that  a  bad  law  gives  revengeful  natures  every  chance  to  satiate 
their  passion  upon  innocent  persons,  and  under  pretence  of  securing 
a  paltry  debt,  to  break  up  their  business,  beggar  their  families,  destroy 
their  reputation,  blast  their  hopes,  and  end  their  lives  in  abject 
wretchedness.  Ludlow-street  Jail  clearly  needs  a  general  delivery 
at  the  hands  of  humanity  and  justice. 


THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  GALLOWS. 

This  is  a  true  description  of  a  veritable  case  which  came  within 
the  notice  of  Miss  Gilbert. 

Oh,  I  shall  go  mad  !  But  no,  I  shall  not — I  wish  I  could  !  Then 
maybe  I  should  beat  my  brains  out  against  the  walls  of  this  damn- 
able prison,  and  be  free  !     Free  ?     What  free  ?     My  soul  ?     How 


62 

do  I  know  I  have  a  soul  ?  I  know  I  have  a  something  that  thinks, 
and  God  ^nows — if  there  is  a  God — that  I  wish  it  would  stop 
thinking.  Oh,  how  the  wind  blows,  and  how  the  rain  sobs !  To- 
day is  the  lytli  day  of  November;  I  know  it  is,  for  I've  got  the 
record  on  the  wall  there.  Seven  months  since,  I've  looked  up  at  the 
blue  sky,  or  felt  the  wind  blow  in  my  face. 

Hark  !  I  wonder  what  that  noise  is !  I'll  climb  to  the  grating 
over  the  door,  and  see. 

O  my  God  !  It  is  a  gallows  they're  building — and  for  me  !  To- 
morrow I'm  to  be  hanged  ! 

Why  do  I  shudder  and  grow  cold  1  Am  I  afraid  to  die  .?  I  surely 
can't  be  afraid  of  death — I,  who  have  looked  upon  it  in  its  most 
hideous  forms.  Yet  the  sweat  starts  out  on  my  forehead  when  I 
think  of  the  death  of — of — shall  I  ever  speak  that  name,  in  Time  or 
Eternity,  without  feeling  as  if  I  were  choking  to  death  'i  To-morrow 
I  shall  be  choked  to  death.  I  shall  be  hanged  by  the  neck  till  I 
am  dead.     They  are  making  the  gallows  now. 

Do  I  deserve  to  die }  Did  I  really  kill  him — Willie  Burton  .-*  I 
didn't  mean  to — I  know  that.  I  struck  at  Bill,  "Slippery  Bill" — 
that  fiend  of  hell,  and  in  my  madness  I  missed  him,  and  hit  Willie. 

Poor  Willie  !  I'd  be  glad  to  die  if  it  would  bring  him  back  to  his 
poor  old  mother.  Strange,  isn't  it,  that  she  is  the  only  one  who  does 
not  look  on  me  with  fear  or  horror — she  whom  I  have  hurt  the  worst 
of  anybody  in  the  world .'' 

There's  a  step  at  the  door  !  'Tis  the  turnkey  with  my  prison 
fare.  It  used  to  be  bread  and  water,  but  since  I've  been  under  sen- 
tence of  death,  I've  had  good  fare.  'Tis  as  if  they  were  fattening 
me  for  the  occasion.  They  want  me  to  look  plump  and  comfort- 
able, to  encourage  others  to  come  here  and  board,  I  s'pose. 

Good  evening,  turnkey  !  I'm  right  glad  to  see  you  ; — not  that 
I'm  hungry  for  food,  but  I'm  hungry  for  some  one  to  talk  to.  Can't 
I  see  Mr.  Blake  to-night }  He  always  told  me  to  send  for  him 
when  I  wanted  him. 

Better  send  for  the  parson,  did  you  say,  turnkey .''  I  want  no 
parson  here.  I've  lived  without  'em — I  reckon  I  can  die  without 
'em.  They've  never  done  me  any  good  in  life,  and  I  won't  call  on 
'em  in  death.     But  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Blake.     He   told   me  to  send 


63 

for  him  if  ever  I  wanted  him,  and  I  want  him  to-night.     If  any  man 
in  this  world  can  help  me — for — for — to-morrow's  work,  it's  he. 

You'll  send  for  him,  did  you  say,  turnkey  1  Thank  you.  You 
have  always  been  as  good  to  me  as  you  could  afford  to  be,  I  s'pose  ; 
anyhow,  I  don't  hold  any  grudge  against  you,  and  I  s'pose  it's  all 
right  someway. 

Good  night,  turnkey  ! — good  night  ! 

So  he's  gone,  and  I'm  alone  again ;  and  to  keep  up  my  strength 
and  spirits  till  Mr.  Blake  comes,  I'll  just  look  at  the  supper  he  has 
brought  me. 

Well,  here's  a  supper  fit  for  a  man  who  is  to  live  a  good  many 
years.     That  old  chap  has  a  heart,  if  he  does  live  in  a  prison. 

Prison  !     Oh  !  I'd  forgot  for  one  minute  I'm  in  a  prison. 

I'm  going  to  be  hung  .^  One  look  at  the  blue  sky, — then  darkness, 
— then — what  .-^ 

Whyj  I'm  crying  !  What  a  fool  to  cry  !  I  wanted  to  cry  when  I 
found  I'd  killed  Willie,  but  I  couldn't.  I  was  so  full  of  tears,  they 
couldn't  run  over,  and  they  choked  me ;  and  my  heart  ached. 

Hark  !     That's  the  turnkey, — and  Mr.  Blake  ! 

How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Blake  .'*  I'm  so  glad  you've  come  !  I  hated 
to  call  you  out  in  the  storm,  but  you  see  they  won't  put  off  the — 
the — they  won't  put  //  off,  you  know,  and  I've  got  a  good  deal  .to 
say  to  you  before — before — morning. 

True  .'*  Yes,  every  word  shall  be  true.  I'll  not  tell  you  one  lie, 
Mr.  Blake,  though  I've  told  enough  of  'em  to  others.  But  they  came 
pokin'  'round  just  to  hear  what  I'd  got  to  say,  and  some  of  'em  acted 
as  if  they  was  afraid  o'  me,  and  some  of  'em  as  if  I  was  a  wild 
beast,  and  some  as  if  I  was  deaf,  and  talked  about  me  as  if  I  couldn't 
hear  'em. 

Yes !  yes !  Youv'e  always  been  good  to  me,  Mr.  Blake,  and 
after  supper  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  Would  ye  mind  eating  supper 
with  me,  Mr.  Blake  .<*     I  kep'  it  in  hopes  maybe  you  would. 

Thank  you  !  Sit  right  here.  You've  always  treated  me  like  a 
human  being,  and  as  if  I  had  a  soul. 

Oh,  Mr.  Blake,  have  I  got  a  soul .?  And  if  I  have,  what  is  it,  and 
what '11  become  of  it  when — when 

You'll  tell  me  after  I've  told  my  story  }     Ah,  well !     I'll  tell  it  soon. 


64 

I've  never  had  no  chance,  never.     I  never  had  no  father — as  I 
know  of.     I  had  a  mother,  but  she  was — well,  she  was  a  bad  one, 
Mr.  Blake.     The  first  thing  that  I  can  remember  was  her  a  lyin'  on 
the  floor,  and  I  a  crawlin'  over  her,  and  whinin' for  hunger  and  cold 
— whinin'  just  like  a  puppy,  and  not'  knowin'  more'n  a  puppy  what 
was  the  matter  with  her.     Soon's  I  got  old  enough  to  know  any- 
thing, I  knew  she  was  drunk.     And  when  I  cried  for  food,  and  she 
had  none  tp  give  me,  she  used  to  put  some  milk  in  whiskey  and  feed 
me  that,  till  I  was  drunk  too,  and  then  she  threw  me  on  to  a  heap 
of  rags,  and  went  and  left  me.     I  was  learnt  to  steal,  soon's  T  could 
go  in  the  streets;  and  that  was  when  I  was  only  six  years  old,  and 
was  so  little  that  no  one  thought  of  its  bein'  me  that  took  their  hand-, 
kerchiefs,  and  knocked  their  bundles  out  of  their  hands,  and  then 
picked  'em  up  in  the  scramble  and  hid  'em  in  my  rags.     Mother 
used  to  get  some  work  to  do  once  in  a  while.     She  used  to  scrub 
offices  and  halls,  and  when  she  had  work,  and  money,  and  enough 
to  eat,  she  didn't  get  drunk,  and  she'd  get  some  clothes  for  both  of 
us,  and  she  wouldn't  let  me  go  on  the  streets  to  steal,  and  say  I  should 
never  steal  any  more,  but  that  I  should  be  brought  up  honest,  and 
that  she  was  once  an  honest  girl,  and  lived  where  there  was  green 
grass  and  poseys ;  and  she  would  cry,  and  seem  to  love  me.     Then 
for  a  few  days,  or  maybe  weeks,  she  would  let  me  go  to  school  to  an 
old  lame  soldier,  who  was  paid  by  some  benevolent  ladies,  and  so 
taught  us  for  nothin'.     I  used  to  learn  so  fast  that  the  old   man 
would  sit  and  look  at  me  as  if  he  thought  I  was  a  wizard.     Then 
there  would  come  a  time  when  mother  had  no  work ;  then  she  would 
get  whiskey,  and  then  get  drunk,  and  take  me  out  of  school,  and  make 
me  drunk,  too — which  I  was  glad  enough  to  do,  for  it  made  me 
forget  my  hunger. 

One  time,  when  mother  was  in  luck,  she  gave  me  money  to  start 
the  newspaper  business.  I  done  well  at  it.  Somehow  I  could  sell 
when  no  other  boy  could. 

I  think  my  father  was  a  smart  man,  and  a  man  of  business.  My 
mother  would  never  tell  me  about  my  father.  No  matter  how  drunk 
she  Was,  she  never  told  a  word.  I  someway  got  to  thinking  he  was 
alive,  and  I  think  he  is  yet.  But  mother  is  dead,  and  I  have  the 
curiousest  idea  that  she  comes  and  makes  me  think  lots  of  queer 


6s 

things.  I  didn't  give  up  learning,  and  when  I'd  sold  out  my  papers, 
I'd  run  to  the  old  soldier's  and  stay  till  evening  papers  was  out. 

I  guess  I  was  about  ten  years  old  when  my  mother  died ;  then  I 
was  homeless,  shelterless,  and  penniless,  and  fell  into  a  den  of  thieves, 
and  I  became  a  thief.  And  on  my  sacred  word  and  honor,  I  never 
looked  upon  it  as  morally  wrong.  Such  had  been  my  birth  and 
surroundings,  that  I  regarded  it  as  my  legitimate  trade,  and  to  be 
sharp  enough  to  evade  the  p'lice  was  an  evidence  of  cunning  and 
skill  greatly  to  be  desired.  Will  you  believe  it,  Mr.  Blake,  the  first 
ideas  of  the  right  and  wrong  of  my  course  of  life  was  given  me  by 
a  man  who  was  my  fellow-prisoner  ?  And  he  had  been  tried,  con- 
victed of  murder,  and  sentenced  to  be  hung !  He  struck  his  father 
with  a  chair  and  killed  him,  while  he  was  beating  his  mother  with  a 
stout  oak  cane.  He  meant  to  strike^  but  not  to  kill  him.  I  think, 
for  my  part,  that  a  jury  of  jackasses  w^ould  have  distinguished 
better  than  that  jury  of  men  did,  between  premeditated  and  acci- 
dental murder.  He  was  nineteen, — only  a  year  younger  than  I  am. 
He  was  a  good  boy. 

You  needn't  shake  your  head,  Mr.  Blake;  you  didn't  know  him. 
He  was  a  good  boy,  and  he  learned  me  all  the  good  I  know.  He 
never  ought  to  have  been  hung.  He  ought  to  have  lived,  and  took 
care  of  his  mother  and  her  little  children. 

I  don't  understand  law,  did  you  say  "i  Well,  maybe  I  don't ;  but 
I  do  understand  right  and  wrong,  'bout  some  things. 

Resigned.''  No,  I  ain't!  I  don't  believe  it  is  right  to  hang  me; 
but  they're  agoin'  to  do  it,  and  I  hope  that'll  be  the  end  on't. 

Yes,  I'll  tell  you  his  name — it  was  Albert  Miller. 

After  I'd  served  my  time  out,  I  went  right  to  Albert's  mother, 
and  told  her  all  about  it,  and  how  I  loved  Albert,  and  what  a  good 
fellow  he  was,  and  how  I  would  help  her  all  I  could.  I  tried  to  be 
a  good  boy — I  did,  Mr.  Blake ;  but  I  went,  and  went,  and  asked 
and  begged  for  work,  but  when  they  found  I  had  been  in  prison,  no 
one  would  have  me. 

Quiet,  Mr.  Blake  .^  I  can't  be  quiet.  I'm  mad  when  I  think  how 
hard  I  tried  to  do  right,  and  Christian  people  wouldn't  let  me. 

I  tell  you  they  wouldn't  let  me,  for  they  wouldn't  help  me,  and 
where's  the  difference  t  Then  I  hated  all  the  world,  and  I  sat  down 
5 


66 

on  the  curbstone,  and  cried,  and  cursed,  and  swore  vengeance  on 
every  one  who  had  turned  me  away,  and  wouldn't  give  me  the  chance 
to  do  right.  While  I  sat  there,  some  one  came  and  touched  my 
shoulder.  I  thought  'twas  ap'liceman,  and  shook  the  hand  off.  Then 
he ^ spoke.  "  What's  the  matter,  boy*;  are  you  hungry.''  Come,  I'll 
get  you  something  to  eat. "    I  got  up,  and  followed  him.    It  was  Willie. 

He  took  me  to  his  house,  into  the  kitchen,  and  an  old  black  woman 
fed  me.  He  took  me  to  the  stable  to  sleep.  In  the  morning  he  told 
his  grandfather  about  me,  and  begged  so  hard  for  a  place  for  me, 
that  his  grandfather  gave  me  a  place  as  assistant  groom. 

Willie's  father  was  dead,  and  his  mother  lived  in  the  country ;  she 
had  a  large  family,  and  was  poor.  His  grandfather  did  not  like  his 
mother,  but  he  had  taken  him  to  educate  and  bring  up.  His  grand- 
father was  good  to  him,  but  he  was  not  very  happy.  He  loved  his 
mother,  and  his  country  home,  if  it  was  poor,  and  declared  that  as 
soon  as  he  was  big  and  strong  enough  to  work,  he  would  go  back  to 
his  mother  and  work  for  her  support,  He  saved  all  the  money  his 
grandfather  gave  him,  to  take  back  to  his  mother.  He  said  he 
should  walk  home,  and  do  the  best  he  could  about  eatin'  and  sleepin'. 
Then  he  told  me — what  do  you  think,  Mr.  Blake  .'* — he  told  me  that, 
in  the  country,  the  poorest  family  would  give  him  something  to  eat, 
and  let  him  sleep  in  their  house !  How  good  country  people  must 
be — so  good  ! 

Why,  Mr,  Blake,  I  have  begged  all  day  in  tliis  cursed  city  for  a 
loaf  of  bread,  or  money  enough  to  buy  it,  and  did  not  get  it,  and 
have  gone  to  my  nest  of  rags  at  night  half  starved. 

Don't  curse,  did  you  say .''  I  can't  help  it.  I  have  so  longed  to 
see  the  green  grass,  the  trees,  and  the  flowers  of  the  country,  and 
now  I  never  shall — never  !  I've  got  to  be  hung,  and  every  chance 
and  hope  cut  off  together  ! 

Oh  !  I'd  be  hung  a  thousand  times  if  it  would  bring  Willie  back 
to  life.  Do  you  think  I'd  kill  him  a  purpose  ?  Why,  I  loved  him 
better  than  anything  else  in  the  whole  world.  I  was  saving  all  my 
wages,  and  I  was  goin'  with  him  to  his  home  in  the  country,  and  we 
was  both  agoin'  to  work  for  his  mother. 

Growin'  daylight  ?  So  it  is.  Well,  I  must  tell  the  rest  quick  as 
possible,  so  you  can  go  home  and  rest. 


67 

You'll  come  back  ?  No,  don't  come  back  !  You've  done  me  all 
the  good  you  can,  but  I  want  you  to  try  and  comfort  others  as  you 
have  me. 

Yes,  yes  !     I'll  hurry. 

How  did  it  happen .?  Well,  in  this  way.  Willie  and  I  used  to 
walk  out  every  night,  and  we  was  careful  to  avoid  my  old  haunts. 
But  one  night  there  was  a  procession  and  a  band  of  music,  and  we 
followed  it  till  we  somehow  got  mixed  up  in  a  crowd  and  I  saw  Bill 
— "  Slippery  Bill,"  I  tried  to  get  away  so  he  would  not  see  me, 
but  he  did,  and  made  for  me,  and  took  hold  of  me  and  shook  me 
about,  and  twitted  me  with  being  a  gentleman  thief,  and  told  Willie 
he  had  better  look  out  for  me  as  I'd  steal  the  clo'es  off  his  back. 

I  was  so  mad  I  struck  at  him  with  a  heavy  stone  I  had  picked 
up.     He  dodged,  and  it  hit  Willie  ! 

That's  all !  I  can't  tell  no  more  !  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it ! 
Oh  !  I  hope  when   I'm  dead  it  will  stop— this  think — think — think ! 

It's  daylight  now.     I'm  glad  it's  the  last — the  last  I'll  ever  see. 

Yes,  Mr.  Blake,  good-by  !     You've  been  good  to  me  !     Good-by ! 

He's  gone  !     But  he  shook  hands  with  me,  and  kissed  me  ! 

What ! — so  soon,  turnkey  "i 

Well,  I'm  ready.  I  had  no  hand  in  bringing  myself  into  this, 
and  shall  have  none  in  taking  myself  out. 

God — if  there  is  a  God — will  know  all  about  this,  and  I  don't 
b'lieve  he  is  a  going  to  be  hard  on  a  fellow  for  what  he  didn't  mean 
to  do.     Do  you,  turnkey .? 

Blasphemy  !  You  call  that  blasphemy  .?  Well,  I  don't — I  call  it 
gospel  truth,  and  I'd  take  God's  word  at  ninety  days  quicker'n  I 
would  the  note  of  most  pious  folks. 

Well,  here  we  are !  The  blue  sky  and  sunshine  look  pleasant — 
but— — 

Good-by,  turnkey  ! 

These  are  the  last — t  wor — \ — 


68 


THE   STARVING   MURDERER. 

The  Iron-Willed  Prisoner  of  the  Iron  Cage  in  Hartford — 
The  Sensations  of  a  Starvin'g  Man — Wilson's  Previous 
State  Prison  Experience — Escape  After  Escape — Begin- 
ning TO  Eat  Under  a  Dawning  Hope. 

You  have  been  advised  of  Wilson's  abandonment  of  his  design  to  kill 
himself  by  starvation,  after  fasting  for  njne  days.  Really  it  v/as  not 
a  complete  fast  for  the  whole  period,  as  on  the  fifth  day  he  took  a  swal- 
low of  water.  Here  in  Hartford  his  vitality  in  holding  out  through 
so  many  days  of  self-denial  is  looked  upon  as  even  wonderful,  as  Dr. 
Hawley,  a  leading  physician,  said  a  week  ago  that  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly live  more  than  nine  days.  Medical  authority  is  weak  on  that 
point,  particularly  where  the  man,  determined  upon  taking  his  own 
life  by  the  slow  process  of  starvation,  is  strong  and  robust  to  begin 
with,  as  Wilson  was.  He  weighed  nearly  one  hundred  and  seventy 
pounds  at  the  start,  and  though  he  was  well  bleached  out,  as  all 
prisoners  confined  for  a  long  time  are,  yet  he  was  in  good  health. 
His  tremendous  power  of  will  is  shown  in  his  frequent  escapes  from 
State  prison,  where  he  has  overcome  the  greatest  obstacles,  even 
after  giving  his  keepers  a  fair  warning  that  he  was  determined  to  get 
away.  One  instance  in  point  is  his  escape  from  Sing  Sing.  He  was 
confined  there  for  burglary,  and  became  dissatisfied  because  of  the 
hardships  of  the  toil  imposed  upon  him.  He  said  to  the  keepers 
or  wardens  that  he  should  behave  himself,  and  he  did  so  for  some 
months,  meantime  asking  that  he  might  have  lighter  work.  But  this, 
though  not  directly  refused,  was  staved  off,  and  one  day  he  said  to 
the  keeper :  "  I  have  behaved  myself  as  I  agreed  to,  and  I  get  no 
favors  for  it ;  now  I  give  you  warning  that  I  shall  get  out  of  here  at  the 
first  opportunity."  The  keeper  turned  up  his  nose  and  exclaimed, 
"Pshaw,  you  can't  get  away.     We  have  got  you  fast." 

It  was  not  long  after  this,  before,  one  .day,  one  of  the  keepers 
drove  up  in  a  buggy  beneath  the  window  where  Wilson  was  working, 
and  left  his  horse  standing  there.  In  an  instant  Wilson  dropped 
his  tools  and  sprang  out  of  the  window  into  the  buggy,  and  seizing 
the  lines,  drove  off.     He  was  spied,  but  put  whip  to  the  animal  and 


69 

dashed  through  the  prison  gate  into  the  road,  the  guard  firing  at 
him,  and  wounding  him  in  the  arm,  which  became  disabled ;  and 
naw  the^  horse  turned  into  a  side  road,  and  Wilson,  supposing  his 
chances  for  escape  good,  put  on  the  lash ;  but  the  road  was  a  wind- 
ing one,  and  to  his  great  surprise  he  found  himself — the  road  making 
a  circle — back  at  the  prison.  He  was  punished  severely,  but  he 
bore  it  without  complaint,  till  one  day  he  said  to  the  keeper,  "  I'll 
get  even  with  you !"  and  it  was  not  three  months  before  he  went  out 
of  the  prison  through  the  roof,  and  was  never  caught. 

From  the  New  Jersey  prison  he  escaped  through  a  ventilating  flue, 
after  telling  the  keepers  that  he  intended  to  get  away.  Wilson  said 
to  me  :     "  They  used  me  well  enough  there,  but  when  they  took  me 

for  a  d d  fool,  I  thought  I'd  give  'em  the  slip,  and  did  so."    He 

served  a  similar  trick  in  the  Ohio  prison ;  in  this  case,  as  in  the 
other,  giving  the  officers  warning  of  his  designs.  And  so  it  was  in 
the  Michigan  prison,  from  which  he  escaped  in  mid-winter,  and 
froze  his  feet,  necessitating  the  amputation  of  both  at  the  instep. 
And  his  pluck  was  such  that,  escaped  convict  as  he  was,  hunted  and 
hounded  at  every  step,  he  reached  New  York  before  the  surgical 
operation  was  performed. 

The  loss  of  his  feet  has  been  a  serious  impediment  to  his  opera- 
tions since,  though  escape  from  the  New  Jersey  prison  was  effected 
afterward,  and  he  also  walked  out  of  court  in  New  York,  taking 
advantage  of  his  custodian's  reading  a  paper,  and  left  his  coat  be- 
hind him,  and  escaped,  he  at  that  time  being  in  the  Ludlow  street 
jail. 

These  examples  are  given  to  show  the  desperate  character  of  the 
man,  and  powerful  determination  which  controls  him.  Yet,  with 
all  this  exhibition  of  will  power,  he  displays  none  of  it  to  a  casual 
observer ;  and  it  ought  to  be  said  in  his  behalf  that  he  never,  accord- 
ing to  the  testimony  of  prison  officials,  violates  his  word.  If  he  says 
he  will  do  a  thing,  he  will  do  it ;  if  he  says  to  the  contrary,  you  may 
believe  him. 

The  starving  business  which  he  entered  upon  was  a  new  thing  in 
his  mind,  decided  upon  after  he  was  brought  to  the  jail  in  this  city 
for  trial,  two  weeks  ago.  When  he  came  up  to  appear  before  the 
grand  jury,  the  week  before,  he  had  a  shoe-knife  secreted  in  one  of 


70 

his  shoes,  but  that  was  discovered  when  he  was  taken  back  to  the 
prison,  and  the  discovery  defeated  his  plans  to  be  prepared  for  other 
work.  ■  When  he  got  back  he  told  Jailor  Fenn  that  if  he  was  sent 
back  to  the  State  prison  to  be  fed  on  stinking  meat,  he  would  not 
live  beyond  ten  days,  as  he  should  refuse  to  eat  or  drink,  and  could 
easily  destroy  himself  in  that  way. 

On  being  taken  back  to  the  prison,  after  he  was  sentenced  to  be 
kept  there  till  the  time  of  his  hanging,  he  began  the  execution  of 
his  threat.  His  food  was  placed  in  his  cell  regularly,  but  he  refused 
to  touch  it.  He  was  silent  as  to  his  motives,  and  nearly  all  the  time 
lay  on  the  bunk  in  his  cell. 

On  the  fifth  day  of  abstinence,  as  already  stated,  he  tasted  water, 
but  after  that,  so  far  as  is  known,  he  tasted  nothing  until  Saturday 
last,  when  he  ate  about  one-quarter  of  the  ration  of  mush  and 
molasses  placed  before  him. 

On  Friday  his  counsel  visited  him  and  told  him  that  they  had 
filed  a  motion  in  error  for  a  new  trial,  and  he  now  says — and  that 
is  about  all  that  can  be  got  out  of  him — that  he  was  led  by  this 
information  to  eat  food.  On  Sunday  he  ate  again,  but  sparingly; 
and  several  persons  visited  him,  though  they  were  unable  to  get 
anything  out  of  him  concerning  his  motives  for  starvation,  further 
than  as  it  related  to  the  new  trial. 

Above  reference  is  made  to  the  extraordinary  deprivation  of 
going  nine  days  without  eating ;  yet  it  is  not  so  wonderful  in  the 
light  of  several  notable  instances,  and  it  may  be  that  Wilson,  aside 
from  the  notoriety  which  many  suppose  he  aims  at  exclusively,  has 
only  been  making  an  experiment.  He  is  too  cunning  to  disclose  his 
real  motive.  I  am  not  so  sure  that  he  has  not  read  the  diary  of  Lac 
Antonio  Viterbi,  which  was  kept  while  this  great  criminal,  under 
sentence  of  death  by  the  guillotine,  was  in  the  prison  of  Corsica  in 
182 1.  There  are  experiences  recorded  in  his  journal,  which  appear 
in  a  very  interesting  little  work  written  by  Mr.  Benson,  of  the  English 
Chancery  bar ;  and  it  is  thought  .he  gathered  the  most  important 
lessons  from  Viterbi,  who  starved  himself  to  death  in  approved 
fashion,  and  with  a  singular  regard  for  all  the  details  of  a  slow  pro- 
cess of  death.  Every  day  he  carefully  noted  his  feelings,  the 
condition  of  his  vital  organs,  and  kept  a  record  of  his  observations. 


71 

He  was  without  food  eighteen  days.  His  diary  is  a  most  interesting 
and  well  and  clearly  written  record  of  personal  experiences.  At  the 
end  of  the  second  week,  he  says,  he  did  not  feel  any  inconvenience ; 
that  at  other  times  he  felt  a  burning  thirst,  and  on  the  last  day,  just 
before  his  death,  he  made  this  apparently  satisfactory  record : 

"  Last  day,  at  eleven  o'clock,  I  am  about  to  end  my  days  with  the 
serene  death  of  the  just.  Hunger  no  longer  torments  me ;  thirst 
has  entirely  suspended.  My  stomach  and  bowels  are  entirely  tran- 
quil, and  my  head  is  unclouded  and  my  sight  clear ;  in  short,  an 
unusual  calm  reigns  not  only  in  my  heart  and  in  my  conscience,  but 
over  my  whole  body.  The  few  moments  which  I  have  to  live  glide 
pleasantly  away  as  the  water  of  a  small  brook  flows  through  a  beau- 
tiful and  delicious  plain." 

The  iron  cage,  into  which  Wilson  was  put  on  being  taken  back 
to  prison  after  his  trial,  was  vacated  in  consequence  of  the  storm  of 
indignation  raised  throughout  the  community  at  putting  a  man  into 
such  a  place,  the  cell  being  away  from  all  others,  and  the  boiler- 
iron  affair,  which  it  is,  was  designed  as  a  place  of  punishment. 
His  present  cell  is  exactly  the  one  referred  to  above,  the  most 
secure  of  any  in  the  prison,  and  ^  double  security  has  been  taken 
in  the  strength  of  the  door  fastenings.  It  is  located  on  the  north 
corner  side  of  the  lower  floor  row  of  cells,  just  as  the  visitor  passes 
from  the  reception  room  into  the  prison  hall.  There  are  two  jams 
to  the  cell  door,  protruding  about  eighteen  inches,  and  made  of 
solid  brick.  The  door  consists  of  round  bars  of  iron  running  up 
and  down,  with  no  aperture  ,  a  large  plate  in  the  centre  incloses  the 
lock.  It  swings  against  the  right  jam,  and  locks  into  the  left  jam. 
At  the  top  of  the  door  is  a  bar  running  through  a  whole  row  of  cells.* 
This  is  as  the  cell  was  first  constructed. 

Now  to  make  it  more  secure,  there  has  been  put  next  to  the  door 
a  thick  plate  of  iron  on  either  side,  ten  or  twelve  inches  wide ; 
through  the  plate  is  cut  a  slot  four  or  five  inches  wide  and  an  inch 
long,  with  a  hole  drilled  through  the  jam  :  then  a  flat  bar  of  steel 
through  the  slot  and  all,  and  a  padlock  on  the  outside  of  each  jam 
fastens  this  crossbar  completely ;  so  that  could  a  prisoner  succeed 
in  getting  the  door  to  swing,  he  could  not  open  it,  in  consequence 
of  the  outs-ide    barriers.     No  living   man   could    open  it    without 


72 

assistance.  The  cell  is  small,  though  well  lighted.  The  experience 
of  Wilson,  according  to  his  own  story,  is  that  he  suffered  fearfully 
on  the  fourth  or  fifth  day  of  his  fasting,  and  it  was  during  this 
almost  madness  that  he  was  compelled  to  take  a  drink  of  water. 
There  was  such  a  craving  that  he  could  not  endure  it,  and,  whether 
responsible  for  the  act  of  drinking,  or  whether  it  was  an  uncon- 
scious proceeding,  he  being  controlled  by  an  irresistible  impulse  as 
insane  persons  often  are,  he  is  unable  to  tell :  all  he  knows  is  that 
he  got  the  water,  and,  after  taking  it,  his  hunger  left  him. 

The  first  effect  upon  Wilson  when  he  took^-his  mush  and  molasses 
for  the  first  time  during  his  fast  was  pleasant ;  but  soon  there  came 
a  terribly  hot  sensation  in  his  stomach,  followed  almost  instantly  by 
slight  pains  through  the  system,  and  rapid  heart-beating,  his  heart 
fairly  jumping  into  his  throat ;  this  startling  sensation  being  very 
soon  succeeded  by  a  high  fever,  though  the  perspiration  then  began 
to  appear,  and.  barring  a  burning  feeling  in  the  stomach,  Wilson 
says  he  was  in  no  pain ;  and  there  has  been  no  pain  since  to  speak 
of,  though  he  says  he  feels  weak,  as  if  rising  from  a  bed  of  sickness, 
but  feels  that  he  is  slowly  gaining  strength,  and  will,  before  many 
days,  be  himself  again.  He  has  lost  not  over  fifteen  pounds  of  flesh 
during  his  long  deprivation,  and  is  now  eating  more  substantial  food 
than  mush,  he  choosing  to  take  that  at  first  because  of  its  light  cath- 
artic nature.   , 

The  food  which  he  has  is  substantial,  and  he  declares  that  he  has 
no  fault  to  find  with  that  placed  daily  in  his  cell  since  he  was  taken 
back  there. 

To-day  he  persists  in  his  first  statement  that  he  decided  not  to 
"  die  because  the  motion  for  giving  him  a  new  trial  has  been  roade, 
and  is  still  as  bitter  as  when  in  court,  against  the  management  of 
the  prison  before  the  tragedy  was  committed,  and  defends  himself 
as  stoutly  as  before  in  the  matter  of  killing  the  Warden,  saying  that 
he  did  the  act  in  self-defence,  and  would  do  it  again  under  similar 
provocati'on.  "  If  I  get  a  new  trial,  I  ought  to  be  allowed  to  show 
what  my  treatment  here  has  been.  If  you  kill  a  man  who  seeks  your 
life,  you  will  be  allowed  to  show  the  justification.  So  ought  I  to  be, 
for  I  took  the  life  of  Captain  Willard  because  under  his  treatment 
I  could  not  live." 


73 

I  spoke  to  him  about  writing  his  life,  telling  him  that  his  experi- 
ence in  crime  had  been  so  eventful  that  a  recital  of  his  deeds  would 
make  a  thrilling  record  for  -the  public  to  read  ;  and  his  reply  was, 
that  if  doomed  to  die  he  would  write  it,  but  for  the  benefit  of  his 
sister,  who  is  old  and  poor,  and  lives  in  Brooklyn,  New  York. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  he  has  been  one  of  the  most  successful  burglars 
which  this  country  has  produced.  From  what  I  know  of  the  man, 
I  am  satisfied  that  he  has  been  a  murderer  before.  There  are  some 
of  his  escapes  so  marvellous,  that  without  a  tragedy  they  could  not 
have  been  successfully  performed  ;  but  he  has  covered  up  his  tracks 
by  assumed  names  in  prison,  and  the  Wilson  of  to  day  is  a  worse 
villain  of  yesterday,  and  those  having  knowledge  of  previous  mur- 
ders committed  by  his  hand  do  not  dream  that  he  is  the  man.  In 
his  written  life,  which  he  will  not  surrender  till  death  is  sure,  there 
Avill  be  some  of  the  most  startling  revelations. 

He  has  two  chances  for  a  new  trial — one  on  the  action  of  the 
Supreme  Court,  and  the  other  on  legislative  action.  He  firmly 
believes  that  if  he  can  get  a  new  trial,  he  will  not  be  convicted  of 
murder,  providing  he  can  get  his  testimony  in ;  and  if  he  should  be 
given  a  new  trial  it  would  be  on  that  point — the  refusal  to  admit 
testimony  at  the  late  trial — and  he  would  get  it  in.  But  he  is  mis- 
taken ;  there  will  be  no  new  trial ;  and,  if  one,  only  a  confirmation 
of  the  recent  verdict.  Meanwhile  he  holds  his  life  in  his  own  hands. 
He  can  kill  himself  by  starvation,  and  has  satisfied  himself  of  that ; 
and,  for  this  reason,  he  is  willing  to  live  till  the  last  chance  is  gone. 
The  World's  account  of  the  prisoner  was  wrong  in  almost  every 
essential  particular  ;  and  the  description  of  the  iron  cage  was  far  from 
correct.  It  was  said  in  that  account  that  the  cage  was  inclosed 
with  solid  granite,  of  which  there  is  not  a  slab  in  the  prison.  It  is 
surrounded  by  brick  one  foot  thick,  covered  with  mortar. — New 
York  Sun. 


74 


A  CASE  WITH  A    MORAL. 

New  York,  May  3d,  1876. 
Miss  Linda  Gilbert  : 

Dear  Madam  :  You  have  asked  me  to  write  a  few  lines  for 
your  book,  and  I,  in  turn,  have  asked  myself  how  I  could  most 
worthily  respond  to  this  flattering  invitation. 

If  I  understand  your  mission  aright,  it  is  bettering  the  condition 
of  prisoners.  Truly,  a  noble  work.  And  if  you  agree  with  me,  that 
to  soften  the  hearts  of  men  outside  of  the  prison  is  the  way  to  soften 
the  hearts  of  those  within,  then,  I  think,  you  will  not  consider  me 
trespassing  if  I  relate  to  you  the  following  simple  incident. 

A  friend  of  mine  had  in  his  employ  a  lad,  of  about  15  years  of  age, 
who  one  day  took  from  his  desk  some  silver  coins  which  had  been 
carelessly  left  there  a  few  minutes  before.  He  called  the  boy  to 
him,  and  affectionately  putting  his  hand  on  his  head,  said : 

"  Tell  me,  Alfred,  have  I  not  always  been  kind  to  you;  and  have 
I  not  frequently  given  you  proofs  that  I  valued  your  diligence 
and  trustworthiness.'*" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  Well,  then,"  continued  my  friend,  "  I  will  not  misjudge  you 
even  in  this  dark  hour,  and  put  the  blame  where  it  belongs.  Alfred, 
my  boy,  from  my  very  heart  /  ask  your  pardon.  It  is  /  who  acted 
wrong  in  putting  this  temptation  before  you,  and,  if  you  will  forgive 
me,  I  promise  you  ever  to  remember  to  beware  of  putting  a  stum- 
bling block  in  my  brother's  way !" 

The  boy,  comprehending  the  manliness  of  this  appeal,  acknowl- 
edged his  guilt  amid  a  flood  of  tears,  when  a  mutual  i)romise  was 
made  never  to  refer  to  the  matter  again. 

Nine  years  had  passed,  when  my  friend,  on  a  journey  West,  had 
occasion  to  do  business  with  a  prominent  bank.  To  his  astonish- 
ment and  delight  he  recognized  in  the  teller  of  this  bank  the 
apprentice  of  nine  years  ago,  who  had  also  recognized  his  former 
master,  whom  he  greeted  with  the  words  :  "  Sir,  to  you  I  am  indebted 
for  this  honorable  position." 

Now,  I  know  this  friend  of  mine  well,  and  can  assure  you  that  he 


75 

is  just  the  man  to  do  this  sort  of  sentimental  work,  as  some  would 
call  it,  over  again. 

Would  not,  I  ask,  a  great  many  of  our  criminals  be  this  day  honest 
well-to-do  citizens,  if  their  first  offence  had  been  treated  as  an  act 
due  to  impulsiveness  rather  than  as  the  result  of  evil  habits ;  as  an 
offence  more  to  be  corrected  than  to  be  punished ;  if,  instead  of 
sending  the  offender  to  jail — this  hotbed  of  crime — he  had  been 
dealt  with  in  the  family  circle  or  the  home  of  the  philanthropist  ? 

How  many  good  people  would  pause  before  giving  the  order, 
"fetch  the  policeman!"  could  they  know  what  a  wreck  they  are 
making  of  that  poor  lad  or  lass  that  stands  trembling  before  them, 
agitated  with  the  dread  of  punishment. 

•  Will  the  punishment  have  a  curative  or  preventive  effect  ?  Only 
in  isolated  cases.  This  di-ead  of  punishment  will  soon  be  lost  in 
the  prison  atmosphere,  and  make  place  for  a  callousness  that 
"  mocks  the  meat  it  feeds  on." 

I  wish  you  God  speed  in  your  good  work,  madam,  and  would 
you  could  enlist  some  of  our-  great  good  men  and  women  to  assist 
you  in  softening  the  hearts  outside  of  the  prison  walls  against 
young  offenders,  so  that  when  a  poor  erring  soul  is  tempted  aside 
from  the  straight  path,  and  love  steps  in  to  save  it,  it  is  not  always 
met  by  those  beautiful  Northpole  sentiments  of  indignant  virtue  : 
"  Be  just  before  you  are  generous  !"  "Society  must  be  protected  !" 
etc.  Very  truly  yours, 

S.  Arnhfim. 


CHARITY. 

When  you  meet  with  one  suspected 

Of  some  secret  deed  of  shame, 
And  for  this  by  all  rejected, 

As  a  thing  of  evil  fame  : 
Guard  thine  every  look  and  action, 

Speak  no  word  of  heartless  blame 
For  the  slanderer's  vile  detraction 

Yet  may  soil  thy  goodly  name. 


76 

When  you  meet  with  one  pursuing 

Ways  the  lost  have  wandered  in, 
Working  out  his  own  undoing 

With  his  recklessness  and  sin  ; 
Think,  if  placed  in  his  condition, 

Would  a  kind  word  be  in  vain  ? 
Or  a  look  of  cold  suspicion 

Win  thee  back  to  truth  again  ? 

There  are  spots  that  have  no  flowers- 

Not  because  the  soil  is  bad. 
But  the  summer's  genial  showers 

Never  make  their  bosoms  glad  ; 
Better  have  an  act  that's  kindly 

Treated  sometimes  with  disdain 
Than,  by  judging  others  blindly, 

Doom  the  innocent  to  pain. 


CRIMINALS,  AND  HOW  TO  TREAT  THEM. 

LECTURE    BY    REV.    R.    A.    HOLLAND. 

Quite  a  large  congregation  of  people  listened,  lately,  to  the 
lecture  of  Rev.  R.  A.  Holland,  rector  of  St.  George's  Church,  at  the 
corner  of  Seventh  and  Locust  streets,  St.  Louis. 

The  subject  of  the  lecture,  "  Criminals,  and  How  to  Treat  Them," 
was  discussed  from  the  text  found  in  the  fortieth  verse  of  the  twenty- 
fifth  chapter  of  Matthew  :  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one 
of  the  least  of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 

Said  the  lecturer  in  substance  :  In  glorifying  Christ  as  the  founder 
of  our  religion,  which  seeks  the  regeneration  of  the  individual  soul, 
we  are  too  apt  to  forget  his  office  as  a  reformer  in  society.  Among 
the  recent  attacks  on  Christianity  is  the  charge  that,  indulging  in  the 
dream  of  a  future  of  immortality,  it  neglects  to  attend  to  the  tempo- 
rary well-being  of  mankind.  Many  ardent  philanthropists  have  tried 
to  displace  religion,  in  executing  their  various  schemes  for  the  benefit 
of  society.  But  since  the  advent  of  Christ  on  earth  there  has  been 
no  single  movement  for  the  benefit  of  the  race  which  His  Spirit  did 


77 

not  vivify,  or  His  deeds  exemplify.  True,  there  have  been  instances 
where  Christ  has  been  eliminated.  To  judge  Christianity  by  its 
corruptions  is  as  unfair  as  to  judge  of  the  pure  stream  at  its  rock 
fountain,  by  the  river  that  receives  the  filthy  sewerage  of  cities. 
It  is  a  wonder  that  in  spite  of  abuses  tainting  its  waters,  the  stream 
of  life  has  born  a  new  chemistry  that  tends  to  purify.  After  three 
centuries  of  spiritual  despotism  that  numbed  its  faculties,  the  human 
mind  now  feels  the  stirring  of  new  thoughts.  These  conditions  epito- 
mize themselves  in  the  principles — the  fatherhood  of  God  and  the 
brotherhood  of  man. .  The  former  is  the  reason  of  the  latter,  while 
the  latter  is  the  demonstration  of  the  former. 

The  fatherhood  of  God  implies  the  impress  of  His  image  upon 
man,  the  grandeur  in  humanity.  Birth  and  wealth  are  mere 
accidents.  It  is  no  merit  of  mine  that  I  am  an  American  and  not 
an  Arab.  No  merit  of  mine  that  I  am  the  child  of  comfort.  In  the 
ragged  newsboy  or  the  smooched  boot-black  I  see  my  own  youth 
marked  out,  if  I  had  been  born  of  the  same  parentage,  and  had  been 
suffered  to  live  under  the  same  neglect.  One  spirit  runs  through  us 
all,  bespeaking  a  divine  ancestry,  and  all  that  now  belittles  man  will 
be  lost  sight  of  in  future  excellencies.  We  are  all'  alike,  and  in 
infancy  we  see  the  same  traits.  We  have  the  same  emotions,  love, 
grief,  friendship,  as  privations  are  the  same  in  their  origin.  It  is 
the  display  of  these  traits  in  the  humble  and  lowly,  found  in  the 
writings  of  one  now  dead,  that  has  brought  garlands  to  his  grave. 

Are  not  the  poor  and  lowly  all  the  sons  of  God.?  Shall  they, 
because  of  their  lack  of  good  influences  in  early  life,  be  thought  less 
of  than  myself?  Behold  in  me  their  nature,  which  is  mine.  See  in 
all  those  possible  Christs  whom  to  love  is  a  privilege.  This  is  the 
gospel  of  the  fatherhood  of  God  not  preached  in  vain.  It  is  this 
gospel  which  has  done  so  much  for  humanity,  in  giving  free  govern- 
ments, and  all  the  institutions  of  learning,  hospitals  for  the  sick ; 
that  has  abolished  tyrannies,  established  democracies,  reformed  our 
prisons.  It  is  this  gospel  which  has  been  exemplified  in  the  deeds 
of  Florence  Nightingale.  But  the  grandest  conquests  by  this  gospel 
lie  still  in  the  future.  Institutions  are  to  be  reformed,  and  the  cus- 
toms of  society  changed. 

Heretofore  crime  has  been  considered  the  violent  rupture  of  the 


78 

ligaments  that  bind  the  individual  to  society;  hence  our  penal 
system  is  used  to  banish  the  criminal  from  the  pale  of  society.  No 
doubt  criminals  should  be  punished,  but  justice  without  liiercy  is 
retributive  justice  and  no  justice.  That  system^  in  dealing  with  the 
malefactor  as  so  much  bone  and  muscle  to  be  punished,  crushes  out 
what  little  manhood  remains,  and  compels  him  to  continue  in  crime 
to  perpetuate  his  own  life.  So  criminals  increase.  It  is  now  real- 
ized that  in  our  penal  system  ten  criminals  are  made  for  every  one 
that  is  cured.  Treating  men  as  cattle,  it  makes  thejn  cattle,  and 
well  may  it  be  said,  he  who  enters  here  must  leave  his  soul  behind. 
See  this  system  by  which  the  prison  keeper  grows  rich  ;  the  criminal 
is  bound  out  to  contractors,  who  become  rich  on  his  unrequited 
labors.  He  is  cuffed  and  beaten,  and  if  he  happens  to  show  the 
least  display  of  manly,  resentment  for  ill-treatment,  and  having  no  ^ 
means  of  appealing  to  the  people  as  against  the  prison  warden,  he  is 
subjected  to  torture.  We  find  him  without  sympathy,  deprived  of 
social  pleasures,  without  employment  for  his  thoughts,  without  books 
by  which  he  can  converse  with  the  spirits  of  the  dead.  Who  can 
approach  him  without  injury  by  contact  ?  Without  any  of  the  appli- 
ances by  which  he  may  be  helped  to  a  better  life,  he  becomes  utterly 
crushed.  Convicts  are  utterly  damned  for  this  life  so  soon  as  they 
enter  your  penitentiaries.  But  the  greater  punishment  comes  after 
imprisonment.  Criminals  are  under  the  ban  of  public  opinion.  That 
follows  them  after  the  release  from  prison. 

The  lecturer  illustrated  this  by  the  case  of  a  young  man  who,  just 
released  from  an  Illinois  prison,  had  applied  to  him  for  assistance, 
but  whom  he  did  not  dare  to  leave  in  his  home  alone  without  having 
a  friend  to  watch  him.  The  young  man  felt  the  lack  of  confidence 
exhibited  and  suffered  extremely,  and  the  lecturer  said  he  had  been 
taught  a  lesson.  It  matters  not  that  a  man  has  been  in  prison ;  if 
he  desires  to  reform  he  should  be  treated  as  a  fellow-man,  and 
encouraged  to  persevere  in  his  new  life. 

Reform  is  needed  in  the  management  of  prisons.  Is  there  no 
remedy  for  the  justice  that  drives  its  victim  forth  to  the  commission 
of  other  crimes."*  Is  there  no  remedy  for  this  close  confinement, 
this  nausea,  these  narrow  cells,  the  cages  worse  than  those  of  the 
menagerie  that  confine  hyenas,  the  instruments  of  torture,  the  tying  of 


79 

thumbs  as  a  means  of  the  elevation  of  aspirations  ?  Shame,  shame  on  a 
civilization  that  tolerates  such  things !  Shame  on  such  brotherhood ; 
shame  on  such  a  religion  that  permits  these  infamies !  Yet,  men  of 
Missouri,  they  are  perpetrated  in  your  own  State.  I  have  a  letter  from 
a  young  man  who  was  confined  in  jail  on  charges  of  which  he  was 
afterwards  acquitted.  He  says  the  cells  where  he  was  confined  were 
five  by  seven  feet,  never  clean,  the  mattresses  had  never  been  washed, 
but  were  full  of  filth ;  one  prisoner  had  been  in  his  cell  eight  months 
befon?  he  was  permitted  to  walk  in  the  hall.  There  were  no  spoons, 
or  knives,  or  forks,  or  towels.  Although  sixty-five  cents  per  day 
was  paid  for  board,  the  county  jailer  gave  each- prisoner  only  two  or 
four  biscuits  made  of  black  flour,  two  ounces  of  corn  bread,  and  two 
ounces  of  meat,  and  this  oftentimes  rotten.  Then  there  was  water, 
boiled,  sprinkled  with  burnt  flour  and  salt  and  pepper,  and  called 
soup.  Men  were  beaten  and  pinioned — but  I  cannot  go  on.  *  I  can 
only  say  that  the  only  retribution  I  would  visit,  would  be  that  each 
man  who  inflicts  such  things  should  be  obliged  to  suffer  them. 
Recently  one  of  your  own  pet  institutions  was  accidently  thrown 
open,  and  there  was  revealed  a  sight  shocking  to  the  community. 
This  is  the  case  not  in  one  prison,  but  in  all. 

Our  churches  expend  millions  in  sending  religion  to  the  other 
side  of  the  earth,  yet  here  at  home  there  is  worse  suffering  than  that 
caused  by  the  inhuman  slave  ti-ade. 

These  men  are  our  brothers  to  whom  you  have  been  doing  all  this 
evil.  Rub  the  soil  from  a  dirty  face  and  you  will  oftentimes  find  a 
pure  soul  beneath.  Deal  with  them  as  you  would  with  your  boy- 
hood's friends.  The  strongest  of  us  may  fall.  See  the  temptations 
on  all  sides.  Justice  permits  the  licensing  of  grog-shops,  and  no 
official  hand  dashes  the  fatal  cup  from  youthful  lips.  The  law  knows 
that  two-thirds  of  its  victims  can  trace  back  their  crimes  to 
whiskey.  Boards  of  health  know  that  tenement-houses  reek  with 
filth  and  disease.  Governments  blow  up  houses  to  prevent  the 
spread  of  fire.  Quarantines  prevent  the  landing  of  infected  people, 
yet  society  is  an  accomplice  in  the  crimes  committed  against  it. 
But  mercy  shall  have  its  triumph,  for  vengeance  has  worked  long 
enough.  Humanity  has  ceased  to  respect  the  gray  hairs  of  wrong. 
It  resents  as  insults  things  not  complained  of.     It  says  to  kings  and 


8o 

priests,  Beware  how  you  deal  with  that  which  is  mightier  than 
crowns  and  mitres,  and  is  dangerous  to  tamper  with.  A  brighter 
day  is  coming,  and  the  star  worshippers  of  old  must  go  back  or  give 
up  their  creed.  When  the  people  shall  have  seen  clearer,  they  shall 
walk  in  a  diviner  light. 

The  lecturer  then  explained  his  purpose  in  giving  the  lecture, 
which  was  to  assist  Miss  Gilbert,  who  is  seeking  to  aid  prisoners  by 
giving  them  mental  food  in  the  form  of  libraries.  He  invited  his 
hearers  to  make  a  handsome  Christmas  present,  in  the  form  of  books 
or  money. 

A  collection  was  then  taken  up,  and  the  congregation  was  dismissed. 
— St.  Louis  Republic^an^  Dec.  30,  1873. 


PRISON    REFORM. 

Address  Pronounced  at  the  Opening  of  the  International 
Penitentiary  Commission,  at  Brussels,  Belgium,  Septem- 
ber 10,  1873,  t\  E.  C.  Wines,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  President  of  the 
Commission. 

Gentlemen  of  the  International  Penitentiary  Commis- 
sion, AND  Honorable  Colleagues:  Convened  in  this  beautiful 
city,  the  capital  of  a  country  early  and  honorably  distinguished  for 
its  profound  study  of  the  penitentiary  question,  and  its  enlightened 
application  of  the  principles  of  penitentiary  science,  we  may  fitly 
exchange  congratulations  on  the  progress  already  attained,  and  on 
the  cheering  outlook  for  the  future  of  our  great  work.  The  Congress 
of  London,  to  which  this  body  owes  its  existence  and  its  power  of 
of  useful  action,  was  an  event  of  the  highest  significance.  It  was 
one  of  those  events  which  mark,  with  the  clearness  of  sunlight,  the 
progress  of  humanity ;  a  landmark  in  the  march  of  ages ;  a  veritable 
epoch  in  the  history  of  penitentiary  science  and  prison  reform. 
Gentlemen  of  the  Commission,  we  all  know  the  remarkable  success 
of  the  Congress  of  London,  for  we  were  all  there  to  see  it  for  our- 
selves.    It  was   a  great  gathering  in   many  respects:  great  in  the 


8i 

extent  of  the  territories  from  which  it  drew  its  members  ;  great  in  the 
number  of  governments  and  peoples  represented  in  it ;  great  in  the 
elements  which  composed  it ;  great  in  the  work  which  it  accom- 
plished ;  and  great  in  the  results  which  have  already  flowed  from  it, 
and  in  those  which  are  destined  to  flow,  in  increasing  volume, 
through  coming  ages,  from  the  same  prolific  fountain. 

The  creation  of  the  present  Commission,  gentlemen,  grew  out  of 
a  suggestion  which  I  had  the  honor  to  offer  in  the  last  of  the  circu- 
lars addressed  by  me,  while  engaged  in  the  work  of  organizing  the 
Congress,  to  the  several  national  committees  which  co-operated  in 
that  work,  to  the  effect  that  it  would  be  desirable,  with  a  view  to 
continue  and  multiply  the  benefits  flowing  from  the  proposed  Con- 
gress, that  some  permanent  international  organization  should  be 
effected.  The  form  given  by  the  Congress  to  the  organization  thus 
suggested  was  that  of  a  permanent  International  Penitentiary  Com- 
mission, charged  primarily  with  the  duty  of  establishing  a  compre- 
hensive practical  system  of  international  penitentiary  statistics  :  and, 
also,  with  the  further  duty  of  a  sort  of  general  care  and  oversight  of 
other  penitentiary  questions,  having  an  international  relation  and 
bearing. 

It  was  well  understood,  at  the  time  of  its  creation,  that  the  honor- 
able Secretary  of  the  Commission,  Mr.  Beltrani-Scalia,  of  Italy, 
would  take  the  laboring  oar  in  preparing  a  series  of  forms  for 
recording  the  statistical  information  to  be  sought  from  the  various 
countries  of  the  civilized  world.  This  duty  Mr.  Scalia  has  dis- 
charged with  his  accustomed  ability,  and  in  a  manner  worthy  of  his 
wide  and  high  reputation  as  a  criminal  statistician.  I  am  happy  to 
announce  that  a  considerable  number  of  the  governments  of  Europe 
have  signified  their  purpose  to  fill  up,  with  the  necessary  figures, 
the  admirable  formulas  sent  to  them,  and  thus,  so  far  as  they  are 
concerned,  supply  the  Commission  with  the  statistics  asked. 

As  regards  my  own  country,  a  word  of  explanation  is  necessary. 
The  National  Government  at  Washington  has  no  prisons  of  its  own, 
and  does  concern  itself  with  penitentiary  matters  ;  consequently,  all 
the  prisons  of  the  United  States  are  under  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
States  in  which  they  are  severally  found.  Of  course  there  is  no 
common  bond  of  union  between  them ;  no  general  administration 
6 


82 

of  the  whole  country  ;  and  no  uniform  system  of  statistics.  Indeed, 
beyond  the  State  prisons  (called  in  Europe  convicts'  prisons,  or  cen- 
tral prisons),  a  few  houses  of  correction  (for  this  class  of  prisons  is 
not  found  in  most  of  our  States),  and  the  juvenile  reformatories, 
statistics  of  any  value  are  wholly  wanting.  There  is  no  existing 
organization,  except  the  National  Prison  Association,  a  voluntary 
society  still  in  its  infancy,  which  can  gather  penitentiary  statistics 
from  the  whole  country  ;  and  even  when  gathered,  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  reduce  them  to  common  formulas.  To  accomplish  this 
object  would  be  a  work  of  time,  and  requiring  no  inconsiderable 
expenditure  of  money.  Still,  the  Association  wa's  willing  to  under- 
take the  task,  and,  in  that  view,  applied  last  winter  to  Congress  for 
a  subsidy  of  $10,000.  This  was  voted  by  the  Senate,  but  rejected 
by  the  House  of  Representatives.  Still,  our  hope  is  that  this  was 
only  a  postponement  of  the  aid  sought,  and  that  on  another  trial, 
the  result  will  be  more  favorable.  We  shall  hardly  be  able  to  fill  up 
the  formulas  for  the  current  year,  but  shall  hope  to  do  something  in 
this  direction  next  year. 

I  cannot  forbear,  in  this  connection,  a  passing  remark  on  the 
supreme  importance  of  a  uniform  system  of  penitentiary  statistics 
for  the  entire  civilized  world,  since  such  a  system  is  absolutely 
essential  to  broad  and  solid  progress  in  this  most  important  depart- 
ment of  social  science.  The  laws  of  social  phenomena  can  be 
ascertained  only  through  the  accumulation  of  facts.  Returns  of 
such  facts,  carefully  gathered  from  a  wide  field  of  observation,  and 
skilfully  digested  and  tabulated,  are  indispensable  to  enable  us  to 
judge  of  the  effect  of  any  criminal  code  or  penitentiary  system 
which  may  have  been  put  in  operation.  What  we  want  to  know  is 
the  facts ;  but  a  knowledge  of  the  facts  relating  to  so  complex  a 
subject  as  that  of  crime  and  criminal  administration  implies  a  mass  of 
figures,  collected  from  all  quarters,  and  arranged  with  reference  to 
some  well-defined  end.  The  local  and  the  special  are  to  little 
purpose  here.  It  is  the  general  only  that  has  value ;  that  is  to  say, 
returns  so  numerous,  so  manifold,  and  drawn  from  so  wide  a  field 
of  observation  and  amid  such  diversified  circumstances,  as  to  give 
real  significance  to  the  results.  It  is  such  returns  alone  that,  will 
yield  inferences  of  practical  value.     We  want  to  get  an  average; 


83 

but  in  order  to  do  this,  we  must  have  scope  and  variety  enough,  both 
in  the  range  and  character  of  our  returns,  to  be  enabled  to  eliminate 
from  them  whatever  is  local  and  accidental,  and  to  retain  only  what 
is  general  and  permanent.  Only  on  this  condition  will  our  conclu- 
sions as  to  what  constitutes  the  essence  of  the  matter  be  sound  and 
safe.  Only  on  this  condition  shall  we  be  able  to  feel  that  our  infer- 
ences rest,  not  upon  mere  incidents  of  the  phenomena,  which  may 
be  partial,  casual,  and  immaterial ;  but  upon  the  phenomena  them- 
selves, apart  from  variations  which  are  only  temporary  or  adventi- 
tious. In  proportion  as  our  facts  are  gathered  from  narrow  limits 
and  confined  to  short  periods  of  time,  our  generalizations  will  be 
unsafe  as  a  basis  of  argument,  for  we  can  never  be  sure  that  the 
mere  accidents  of  the  experiment  may  not  have  determined  the 
character  of  the  result.  A  practice  founded  on  conclusions  arrived 
at  in  this  way,  though  scientific  in  form,  would  be  empirical  in  fact ; 
and  dogmatism  would  have  been  mistaken  for  induction.  Nor  can 
this  false  reasoning  be  corrected  otherwise  than  by  returns  which, 
if  not  universal,  are  at  least  general ;  that  is  to  say,  broadly  compre- 
hensive of  both  space  and  time. 

A  question  of  the  greatest  importance  will  undoubtedly  come 
before  this  commission  at  its  present  meeting,  viz. :  Shall  another 
International  Penitentiary  Congress  be  convened.?  If  this  question 
is  answered  in  the  affirmative,  three  others  will  immediately  arise,  viz. : 
I.  When  shall  the  new  Congress  be  held.?  2.  Where  shall  it  be  con- 
vened }  3.  On  what  bases  shall  it  be  organized .?  I  will  briefly  con- 
sider these  questions  in  their  order. 

I.  Shall  another  International  Penitentiary  Congress  be  convened  1 
Here  I  desire  to  cite  an  extract  from  a  letter  addressed  to  me  last 
autumn  by  an  honored  member  of  this  commission,  Mr.  Pols,  of 
Holland,  who  says :  "  The  great  aim  of  such  Congress  is  to  stir  pub- 
lic opinion  and  give  it  a  mighty  impulse  in  some  direction.  This  aim, 
I  think,  has  been  fully  attained  by  the  London  Congress,  and  as  I 
believe  that  public  opinion  rules  the  world,  not  only  in  free  coun- 
tries, like  yours  and  mine,  but  even  in  states  seemingly  directed  by 
an  uncontrolled  executive  power,  the  indirect  results  of  the  Con- 
gress will  soon  appear,  and  our  (or  as  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  your) 
work  will  be  proven  not  to  have  been  fruitless.     The  thoroughly  prac- 


84 

lical  and  scientific  character  of  the  proceedings,  the  earnest  and,  on 
many  points,  exhaustive  discussions,  and  the  unanimous  accord 
finally  reached  concerning  so  many  great  and  important  principles 
of  penitentiary  discipline,  insure  its  success,  which  will  prove  the 
greater,  as  it  will  be  wpn  by  instillation  and  not  l)y  strong  measures^ 
too  soon  in  general  nullified  by  reactions.  Nor  do  I  think  it  one  of 
the  least  remarkable  results  of  the  Congress  that  men,  so  widely 
diverging  as  to  the  means  of  working  out  common  principles,  have 
met  one  another  without  any  contention  or  personal  strife,  but, 
without  an  exception  that  I  am  aware  of,  have  shown  the  greatest 
esteem  for  their  strongest  antagonists,  the  largest  toleration  for 
adverse  opinions.  The  absence  of  petty  jealousies  and  personal  van- 
ities insures,  as  I  believe,  an  impartial  and  broad  consideration  of 
the  rival  systems."  A  Congress  of  which  so  much  can  be  truly  said, 
and  I  believe  all  this  to  be  true,  must,  of  necessity,  be  repeated.  I 
therefore  look  for  a  unanimous  vote  from  the  Commission  in  favor 
of  holding  another  Congress,  similar  in  character  and  design  to  the 
one  which  met  last  year  in  London. 

II.  W/ien  shall  such  Congress  be  convened ?  My  personal  opinion  as 
to  the  most  suitable  time  for  holding  the  Congress  is  so  closely 
related  to  my  conception  of  what  the  Congress  itself  should  be,  that 
is,  of  the  manner  in  which  it  should  be  constituted,  that  it  will  be 
necessary  to  develop  the  latter  before  I  can  state  the  former  in  a 
way  to  give  to  it  the  proper  force.  I  conceive  it,  then,  to  be  most 
desirable  that  the  next  International  Penitentiary  Congress  should 
be  a  body  representing,  literally  and  absolutely,  the  whole  civilized 
world.  I  would  wish  every  nation,  state,  province,  and  colony  on 
the  globe  to  be  there  by  its  delegates.  In  short,  I  desire  the  Congress 
to  be,  in  the  true  and  full  sense,  an  Ecumenical  Penitentiary  Council, 
drawn  from  broader  territories  and  more  distant  regions  than  were 
ever  represented  in  any  Ecumenical  Ecclesiastical  Council,  sum- 
moned by  papal  authority.  It  is  evident  that  the  organizing  of  such 
a  body  would  be  a  work  involving  immense  labor  in  the  three  forms 
of  travel,  negotiation,  and  correspondence.  I  do  not  believe  that  so 
great  a  work  can  be  accomplished  before  the  summer  of  1876.  At 
least,  it  would  not  be  safe  to  calculate  upon  its  accomplishment  at 
an  earlier  date.     I  therefore  propose  the  summer  or  autumn  of  1876 


85 

as  the  most    fit  time    for   convening   the  Congress,  which  I    have 
assumed  would  be  voted  by  the  Commission. 

But  such  a  work  as  I  have  suggested  will  not  accomplish  itself. 
Somebody  must  do  it.  Where  is  the  agent  to  undertake  the  task  ? 
I  can  only  say,  in  the  words  of  a  prophet  in  response  to  a  higher 
summons,  "  Here  am  I,  send  me."  I  have  already  spent  three  years 
of  incessant  and  exhausting  toil  in  organizing  three  Penitentiary 
Congresses  (two  national  and  one  international) ;  and  I  am  willing 
to  give  three  more  such  years  to  this  one,  the  preparation  for  which 
would  be  equal  in  its  exactions  to  that  of  the  three  others,  since  it 
would  necessitate  the  circumnavigation  of  the  globe  and  journey ings 
from  the  frozen  regions  of  the  North  to  the  equally  frozen  regions 
of  the  South. 

III.  Where  shall  the  proposed  Congress  be  held?  On  this  point  I 
hold  no  opinion  with  such  strength  that  I  would  not  readily  yield 
it  to  that  of  the  majority  of  my  colleagues  of  the  commission.  My 
personal  choice  would  be  the  city  of  New  York,  in  my  own  country ; 
first,  because  1876  being  the  One  Hundredth  Anniversary  of  our 
existence  as  a  nation,  there  is  to  be  that  year,  as  a  part  of  its 
appropriate  celebration,  a  great  International  Exposition  at  Phila- 
delphia, which  will  draw  people  from  all  parts  of  the  world ;  and, 
secondly,  because  New  York  would  be  a  point  more  accessible 
than  any  city  in  Europe  to  the  States  of  South  America^  all  of 
which  will,  I  trust,  be  represented,  and  also  to  the  nations  and 
provinces  of  the  East.  If,  however,  the  continent  of  Europe  be 
fixed  upon,  Switzerland  would  be  my  preference ;  and  if  that  country 
should  be  chosen,  it  would,  I  suppose,  be  a  matter  of  course  that 
Berne  or  Geneva  should  be  the  city  to  receive  the  Congress. 

IV.  On  what  bases  shall  the  Congress  be  organized?  On  this  point 
I  desire  first  to  cite  a  passage  in  a  letter  received  last  autumn  from 
an  honorable  member  of  this  commission,  Mr.  Stevens,  of  Belgium, 
who  says  :  "  If  another  Congress  shall  be  held,  I  would  propose — 
I.  That  all  discussions  take  place  in  the  French  language.  2.  That 
the  questions  to  be  considered  be  published  at  least  three  months 
before  the  opening  of  the  Congress.  3.  That  the  number  of  these 
questions  be  restricted  as  much  as  possible,  and  all  those  excluded 
which  are  not  "of  an  international  interest.     4.  That  each  country 


86 

prepare  a  complete  exposition  of  its  penitentiary  situation,  similar 
to  that  furnished  by  Belgium  to  the  Congress  of  London,  and 
communicate  it  to  the  permanent  International  Commission  some 
months  in  advance  of  the  assembling  of  the  Congress.  5.  That 
the  Congress  meet  in  Europe,  in  one  of  the  large  cities  of  the  conti- 
nent." Mr.  Stevens  adds  :  "  I  think  that  in  this  way  the  discussions 
will  be  better  prepared,  and  that  the  Congress  will  be  able  to  vote 
resolutions,  whose  authority  will  be  incontestable."  On  the  fifth 
proposition  of  Mr.  Stevens  I  have  already  expressed  my  view^,  and 
have  nothing  to  add.  On  the  second  I  am  entirely  in  accord  with 
my  valued  correspondent.  On  the  third  the  same ;  only  I  suppose 
that  nearly  every  question,  connected  with  ,  penitentiary  manage- 
ment, which  is  important  for  one  country  has  an  equal  importance 
for  others,  so  that  I  do  not  see  that  the  second  branch  of  the  propo- 
sition would  be  much  of  a  restriction.  I  am  in  favor  of  the 
proposed  limitation  of  questions  to  be  considered,  among  other 
reasons,  because  I  hope  that  these  international  penitentiary  reun- 
ions will  be  repeated  at  least  as  often  as  the  Greek  Olympiads — 
once  every  four  years.  The  fourth  suggestion  of  our  excellent 
colleague  seems  to  me  to  be  one  of  great  importance.  I  would  add 
the  expression  of  a  deep  conviction  that  the  question  of  preventive 
and  reformatory  work  should  be  made  prominent  in  the  next 
Congrqss,  and  that  an  exposition  of  the  actual  status  of  that  work  in 
each  country  should  form  a  part  of  the  report  to  be  communicated 
to  this  Commission.  I  have  some  doubt  whether  the  first  proposi- 
tion of  my  friend  ought  to  be  made  one  of  the  bases  in  the  organi- 
zation of  the  new  Congress.  "  1  have  expressed  already  the  conviction 
that  it  is  extremely  desirable  that  the  Congress  should  be  a  World's 
Conference  in  the  broadest  and  most  absolute  sense ;  that  represen- 
tatives should  be  found  in  it  from  every  civilized  nation  under 
heaven.  I  fear  that  the  restriction  of  the  Congress  to  the  use  of  a 
single  language  would  materially  interfere  with  the  success  of  that 
idea;  and  I  am,  therefore,  strongly  inclined  to  give  to  the  coming 
reunion  at  least  as  broad  a  liberty  in  the  use  of  different  tongues  as 
was  allowed  to  the  Congress  of  London.  No  doubt  there  are  some 
inconveniences  attending  tHe  employment  of  several  languages  in 
an  international  convention;  but    the  chief  of  them  is  the  delay 


87 

occasioned  by  the  necessity  of  translation.  The  addition,  however,, 
of  two  or  three  days  to  the  sessions  would,  to  my  mind,  be  a  far  less 
evil  than  the  exclusion  of  perhaps  a  score  or  more  of  nations  and 
states  from  the  Congress.  If  it  should  be  objected  that  the  commu- 
nities which  would  stay  away  from  the  conference  on  this  ground 
would  not  be  likely  to  contribute  much  to  its  deliberation,  I  answer 
by  saying  that  the  question  is  not  one  of  communicating  simply, 
but  of  receiving  as  well.  It  is  a  question  of  doing  ■  good  no  less 
than  of  obtaining  it.  If  Japan,  China,  Egypt,  Palestine,  and  the  South 
American  States  should  not  add  -much  to  our  stock  either  of  facts 
or  principles,  they  might  all  receive  immense  benefits  from  a  parti- 
cipation in  the  conference.  Thus  the  world  itself  would  be  set 
forward  in  its  great  work  of  civilization,  and  society  would  every- 
where make  progress  in  virtue,  wisdom,  order,  reform,  and  happiness. 
Gentlemen  of  the  Commission,  and  honored  Colleagues:  I  have 
already  alluded  to  the  early  interest  and  advanced  position  taken  in 
penitentiary  reform  by  the  country  which  has  offered  us  her  hospi- 
tality for  the  present  meeting.  But  I  should  fail  to  do  justice  either 
to  my  own  feelings  or  to  our  honored  host,  if  I  did  not  add  a  word 
or  two  to  what  I  have  already  said.  Belgium  has  been,  pre-eminently, 
the  pioneer  of  the  world  in  this  good  work.  Thanks  to  a  citizen  of 
whom  any  country  might  be  proud,  the  Viscount  Vilian  XIV.,  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  wisest  and  most  gifted  statesmen  who  have  ever 
contributed  by  the  light  and  warmth  of  their  genius  to  the  progress 
of  humanity,  it  is  just  one  hundred  years  ago  that  a  penitentiary 
was  opened  in  the  neighboring  city  of  Ghent,  in  which  were  intelli- 
gently and  successfully  applied  nearly  all  the  great  principles  which 
the  world  is  even  to-day  but  slowly  and  painfully  seeking  to  intro- 
duce into  prison  management.  What  are  those  principles  }  Reform- 
ation of  criminals  as  the  supreme  end  to  be  kept  in  view ;  hope,  as 
the  great  regenerati^ve  force  in  prisons;  industrial  labor,  as  another 
of-  the  vital  forces  to  be  employed  to  the  same  end ;  religious  and 
scholastic  education  and  training,  as  a  third  force  belonging  to  the 
same  category;  abbreviations  of  sentence  and  participation  in  earn- 
ings, as  incentives  to  be  held  out  to  prisoners  to  diligence,  good  con- 
duct, and  effort  at  self-improvement ;  the  enlistment  of  the  will  of 
the  criminal  in  the  work  of  his  own  .moral  regeneration — his  new 


88 

birth  to  a  respect  for  the  laws  ;  the  introduction  of  a  variety  of  trades 
into  prisons,  and  the  thorough  mastery  by  every  prisoner  of  some 
one  handicraft,  as  supplying  the  means  of  honest  support  after  dis- 
charge ;  the  use  of  the  law  of  love  and  kindness,  as  an  agent  in 
prison  discipline,  to  the  exclusion,  as  far  as  possible,  of  the  grosser 
forms  of  force,  which  act  upon  the  will  mainly  through  the  body; 
the  utter  worthlessness  of  short  imprisonments,  and  the  absolute 
necessity  of  longer  terms,  even  for  minor  offences,  as  the  sole  con- 
dition of  the  application  to  such  offenders  of  reformatory  processes ; 
and  the  care,  education,  and  industrial  training  of  the  children 
of  the  poor,  and  of  other  children  addictM  to  vagrant  habits,  or 
otherwise  in  peril  of  falling  into  crime — an  anticipation,  in  essential 
features  and  aims,  of  the  industrial  school  and  juvenile  reform- 
atory of  the  present  day. 

Even  the  illustrious  Howard  was  a  different  man  from  what  he 
would  have  been,  and  wrought  a  higher  and  nobler  work  for  humanity 
thafi  he  would  have  accomplished,  but  for  the  inspiration  he  received 
from  his  repeated  visits  to  the  penitentiary  of  Ghent.  I  can  ask 
nothing  better,  gentlemen,  than  that  the  same  inspiration  may  breathe 
upon  our  hearts  and  guide  our  counsels  in  the  work  which  has  called 
us  together  from  so  many  different  and  distant  countries. 


LETTER  FROM  SIGNOR  DASSI  TO  MISS  GILBERT. 

New  York,  8th  May,  1876. 
My  dear  Friend  : 

We  boast  of  the  achievements  of  our  civilization,  we  consider  the 
modern  conquests  and  supreme  victories  of  the  human  spirit,  but, 
when  we  look  to  the  future,  we  see  an  ocean  of  evils  that  afflict 
humanity,  as  if  inexorable  facts  impose  upon  man  the  sorrowful 
spectacle  of  moral  and  physical  misery. 

You  have,  and  with  reason,  made  an  onslaught  upon  these  ini- 
quities, believing  that  good  is  possible. 

This  consideration  has  conducted  your  noble  heart  to  dedicate 
yourself  entirely  to  the  grandest  philanthropic  work  :  the  redemption 
of  the  fallen. 


89 

All  your  forces,  moral  and  physical,  are  consecrated  to  proclaim 
Justice  and  to  condemn  the  brute  force  that  anihilates  it,  at  the  same 
time  to  save  inconsistent  society  from  terrible  reactions. 

You  have  had  the  holy  inspiration,  the  courage,  energy,  and  faith 
alone  and  unaided  to  initiate  the  work  ;  proving  with  facts  the  cer- 
tainty of  happy  results. 

It  is  not  the  first  time  I  confer  with  you  upon  this  grave  ques- 
tion ;  you  know  how  much  interest  I  have  entertained,  how  much  I 
desire  to  see  your  work  vigorously  diffused,  organized,  and  conducted 
with  that  love,  activity,  and  energy  which  you  have,  from  your 
youth,  applied  to  promote  and  establish  it. 

Therefore,  on  arriving  in  this  land  of  liberty,  my  first  thought 
recurred  to  you. 

It  is  natural.  What  reform  is  more  necessary,  more  urgent,  more 
just,  than  the  rehabilitation  of  the  prisoner.^  And  what  circum- 
stance is  more  propitious  and  favorable  than  the  Centennial  Exhibi- 
tion, where  all  nations  unite  to  celebrate  the  conquests  achieved, 
in  and  through  peace,  liberty,  science  and  labor,  and  to  proclaim 
justice  in  all  and  for  all  ? 

The  arduous  problem  which  you  have  attempted  and  partially 
solved  is  a  problem  which  concerns  the  whole  of  humanity,  and  I  am 
persuaded  that  it  will  attain  solution. 

The  nation  is  the  grandest  manifestation  of  human  goodness. 
But  too  often  the  ignorace,  the  abjectness  of  spirit,  renders  many  who 
fall  unable  to  rise  again. 

You  have  undertaken  to  destroy  these  perpetuated,  great  evils 
by  the  rehabilitation  of  the  prisoner. 

Society  is  intensely  interested  in  your  enterprise.  I  am  therefore 
persuaded  that  your  appeal  to  the  public  will  meet  with  favor  and 
support. 

It  concerns  the  salvation  of  society  itself,  to  convert  an  element 
of  disorder  into  an  element  of  order. 

The  grandeur  and  utility  of  your  work  will  be  recognized  by  all. 

America,  the  native  land  of  the  greatest,  noblest  philanthropies, 
ancient  and  modern,  will  not  remain  deaf  to  your  appeal,  nor  will 
your  voice  be  a  voice  in  the  desert. 

Abide  faithful  in  the  future !     The  victory  shall  not  fail  you  ! 


90 

It  has  been  providential  that  a  woman  of  America  initiates  the 
practical  rehabilitation  of  the  prisoners.  A  woman  is  the  angel  of 
the  vision,  the  inspiration  of  all  the  most  elevated  and  noble  senti- 
ments, and  the  dignity  of  humanity  is  resplendent  in  her  virtue. 

You  deserve  universal  gratitude.  Your  name  is  sacred  to  all  and 
an  lionor  to  your  sex. 

Ever  faithfully  advance  !  Enjoy  life,  health  and  happiness,  and 
believe  me  to  l)e,  with  profound  admiration. 

Yours, 

Giuseppe  Dassi. 


THE    MISSION   OF   WOMAN. 

To  THE  Editor  of  the  Eco  cT Italia  : 

I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude  for  the  affectionate  wi  rds  and 
encouragement  you  have  on  several  occasions  given  me  through 
your  distinguished  paper,  exhorting  me  to  persevere  in  the  path  of 
charity  towards  the  poor  prisoners. 

When  an  illustrious  patriot,  beloved  among  our  most  deserving 
countrymen,  honors  me  with  his  counsels,  I  am  sensible  of  my  own 
insignificance  and  of  the  efficient  help  extended  to  me  by  yourself, 
by  Saffi,  my  esteemed  godfather  Garibaldi,  General  Avezzana,  by 
Filopanti,  Giorgio  Pallavicini,  Riciardi,  my  beloved  friends  Signo- 
rina  Gualberta  Alaide  Beccari,  the  able  and  esteemed  editress  of  Za 
Donna^  the  ladies  Giorgina  Saffi,  Lazzati,  Ravizza,  and  many  other 
noble  hearts. 

You  see,  dear  sir,  that  I  have  very  little  merit  in  following  such 
experienced  and  able  workers,  who,  co-operating  with  my  dear  par- 
ents, facilitate  my  way  and  stimulate  my  perseverance  in  the  enter- 
prise. Women  have,  in  the  family  and  in  society,  a  mission  of  peace 
and  love,  which  must  by  all  means  be  upheld,  if  they  would  not 
lose  the  sweet  and  efficacious  influences  they  exercise  upon  philan- 
thropic enterprise. 

The  moral  and  physical  evils  that  afflict  humanity  in  general  are 
grave,  and  we  find  them  aggravated  as  we  descend  to  the  poorer 
multitudes. 


91 

In  fact,  ignorance,  first  cause  of  all  the  misery,  all  the  guilt  and 
anguish,  brutalizes  the  spirit  and  hardens  the  heart. 

These  inexorable  plagues  of  delinquency  are  aggravated  by  the 
inability  of  the  poor,  discharged  prisoner  to  rehabilitate  himself. 

Italy  has  a  few  institutions  of  patronage  for  the  prisoners,  but,  in 
the  main,  they  perform  their  functions  neither  with  alacrity  nor 
energy,  they  are  isolated,  a^nd  so  to  say  individualized. 

Generous  and  philanthropic  hearts  are  not  wanting  among  us,  but 
they  should  unite  and  co-operate  in  order  to  be  able  the  better  to 
attend  to  and  regulate  questions  of  economy,  of  morals  and  of 
providing  labor  and  instruction  for  the  prisoners. 

This  work  of  redemption  of  the  poor  fallen  is  felt  to  be  urged  by 
a  universal  impulse,  and  here,  under  favorable  auspices,  I  hope, 
will  speedily  succeed. 

A  powerful  incentive  has  come  to  me  from  my  dear  friend.  Miss 
Linda  Gilbert  of  New  York.  Her  sacrifices,  her  courage,  her  self- 
denials,  her  energy  and  her  constancy  have  inspired  and  determined 
me 'to  follow  her  example. 

We  in  Italy  anxiously  watch  this  great  benefactress,  and  wait 
impatiently  to  see  her  assisted  in  her  sacred  work. 

When  I  see  entire  families,  women,  girls,  and  boys,  plunged  into 
demoralization,  because  the  head  of  the  family  had  the  misfortune  to 
be  imprisoned,  perhaps  for  but  a  trivial  offence,  my  heart  aches  and  I 
ask  myself,  if  this  man  (I  speak  not  of  exceptional  cases  of  perver- 
sity) gives  proofs  of  sincere  penitence,  would  like  to  work  and  be 
honest,  should  he  not  reasonably  have  some  hope  to  be  again 
received  in  society,  to  make  himself  useful  and  to  save  himself  and 
his  innocent  family  from  ruin.?  The  popular  indifference  and 
callousness  that  would  evade  such  reflections,  haunts  me  as  a  painful 
dream,  a  thing  inconceivably  monstrous  and  dangerous  to  society, 
whose  study  it  should  be  to  diminish  the  evils  which  befall  a  state 
from  practices  subversive  of  justice  and  destructive  to  the  true 
interests  of  society. 

But  this  in  fact  is  the  absolute  truth,  and  in  order  to  demonstrate 
the  gravity  of  the  evil  I  occupy  myself  with  a  statistical  work  shortly 
to  be  published. 

Therefore,  my  dear  sir,  in  the  spirit  that  guides  my  work,  I  pray 


92 


you  further  to  grant  me  your  efficacious  assistance  and  to  accept  as 
an  acknowledgment  of  my  indebtedness  to  you,  the  gratitude  and 
esteem  with  which  I  subscribe,  dear  sir. 

Yours  devotedly, 

Leontina  Dassi. 


A    HAUNTED    MAN. 
From  the  New    York  ''Sunr 

To  THE  Editor  of  the  Sun — Sir  :  It  is  quite  useless,  of  course, 
in  the  existing  state  of  public  sentiment,  to  lift  up  one's  feeble  voice 
against  the  execution  of  the  death  penalty  by  hanging ;  and  I  should 
not  trouble  myself,  as  to  the  Dolan  affair  reported  in  your  columns 
this  morning,  to  enter  an  unavailing  protest,  were  it  not  that,  from 
experience  of  my  own,  I  am  firmly  convinced  of  the  morbid  nervous 
tendencies  attendant  upon  witnessing  executions,  and  even  upon 
perusal  of  their  details  as  pictured  by  the  graphic  hand  of  the 
practised  reporter.  I  have  met  persons  on  whom  such  spectacles 
operated  as  a  morbid  nervous  stimulant,  and  who  would  walk  leagues 
rather  than  miss  being  present  at  the  execution  of  a  murderer ;  just 
as  I  have  met  old  ladies  who  would  regard  it  as  a  real  deprivation  to 
miss  a  funeral  for  leagues  about,  and  have  been  heard  to  complain 
dolefully  when  two  funerals  happened  on  the  same  afternoon. 

For  myself,  I  have  reported  a  number  in  the  course  of  a  long  ser- 
vice as  daily  journalist,  and  I  verily  believe  that  executions  are  self- 
perpetuating — self-perpetuating  because  murders,  by  some  strange 
psychological  law,  can  often  be  traced  to  the  morbid  incitation  and 
the  almost  uncontrollable  nervous  sympathy  that  such  spectacles 
engender.  I  was  present  at  the  execution  of  Gonzales  and  Pellicier 
in  the  Raymond  street  jail-yard,  Brooklyn.  It  was  a  still,  semi- 
darkened,  rainy  afternoon,  or,  rather,  it  drizzled  and  misted  in  place 
of  raining,  as  if  somehow  the  weather  was  holding  its  breath  and 
waiting  for  the  affair  to  be  over,  before  proceeding  to  business  :  and, 
to  strengthen  the  fancy  that  such  was  the  case,  just  after  that  horrible 
clatter  in  the  box  that  contained  the  Dennis  of  the  event  had  sub- 


93 

sided,  it  came  down  in  earnest  for  a  few  minutes,  and  dripped  drea- 
rily from  the  black  cross-beam,  and  from  the  black  figures  with  clown's 
caps  on  their  heads,  though  the  caps  were  as  black  as  the  rest. 
And  as  the  drops  gathered  into  larger  drops,  and  fell  steadily  upon 
the  platform,  nervous  as  I  was,  and  sick  at  heart,  their  devilish  tattoo 
worked  its  way  into  my  brain  in  such  a  manner  that  I  have  lost  since 
then  one  of  the  pleasantest  things  in  life — that  of  listening  to  rain- 
drops. I  saw  them  hanging  there,  and  broke  into  a  paroxysm  of 
nervous  laughter  that  shocked  the  solemn  sheriff,  the  deputies  talk- 
ing in  low  tones,  and  the  bullet-headed  executioner,  and  made  the 
latter  look  calculatingly  at  my  neck.  Since  then  a  bubble  of  happy 
laughter  has  an  inhibiting  influence  on  the  optic  nerve.  I  dread  to 
laugh  or  hear  the  sweetest  laughter;  for  I  see  myself  sitting  in  a  jail- 
yard  in  the  rain,  with  two  suspended  corpses  motioning  toward  me 
with  their  feet,  and  deputies  wondering  why  a  man  should  laugh 
when  he  wasn't  tickled. 

But^  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it.  No  matter  where  I  am,  or  in 
what  agreeable  society,  with  any  sudden  darkening  of  the  atmosphere, 
as  of  the  sun  passing  behind  a  cloud,  I  see  two  black  figures  swinging 
under  a  black  cross-beam  a  few  feet  from  my  eyes.  It  is  not  a  mere 
recollection  of  the  thing,  with  its  attendant  mental  spectre,  but  a 
vivid  reproduction  external  to  myself;  such  that  the  gallows  and 
the  figures  swinging  to  and  fro  in  the  rain  are  actually  before  me  as 
they  were  that  day,  ah,  and  that  night,  too !  for  what  terrible  dreams 
I  had,  with  a  thick-set,  clean-shaven  man,  wearing  a  stiff,  round- 
crowned  hat,  flitting  in  and  Out  of  a  box,  and  taking  a  specially 
demoniac  delight  in  making  a  clatter.  And  after  each  clatter  came 
a  black  cross-beam  of  terrible  dimensions  and  two  limp  but  gigantic 
figures  suspended  from  it  by  cords  ridiculously  too  small  to  hang 
giants  with.  A  thousand  things  operate  as  reminders.  Sometimes, 
when  I  am  particularly  nervous,  a  transom  over  the  door,  or  a  long 
black  sign-board,  or  the  sight  of  a  man  very  thick-necked  and  bullet- 
headed,  or  a  round-crowned  hat  exposed  in  a  hatter's  window  brings 
on  the  horrible  vision,  and  if  T  shut  my  eyes  I  see  it  all  the  more. 

The  result  is,  sir,  that  I  am  a  haunted  man,  and  always  expect  to 
be  so  as  long  as  I  live ;  and  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  there  are 
others  who  are  similarly  haunted  by  nervous  pictures  of  the  same 


94 

kind.  Why  not  execute  with  hemlock  (extract  of  conium)  as  the 
Greeks  did,  in  place  of  poisoning  lunatics  with  it  ?  Why  not  make 
a  logical  application  of  anaesthesia  ?  Why  not  let  condemned  men 
pass  into  awful  and  menacing  silence  from  the  moment  of  sentence? 
I  concede,  sir,  that  hanging  is  picturesque — terribly  picturesque — 
savagely  so.  I  see  two  black  figures  swinging  in  the  rain  at  this 
moment,  and  I  shall  see  them  all  night  long;  and  you  can  readily 
imagine  how,  in  many  temperaments,  a  morbid  impression  of  this 
kind  may  pass  into  a  morbid  impulse  and  impel  irresistibly  to  the 
tragedy  by  which  it  was  engendered. 

Francis   Gerry    Fairfield. 
New  York,  April  22,  1876. 


FLOGGING  THE  PRISONERS. 

HOW    IT    IS    DONE    IN    KINGS    COUNTY    PENITENTIARY. 

A  visitor  to  the  Kings  County  Penitentiary  was  surreptitiously 
handed  a  letter  addressed  to  the  editor  of  The  Sun,  of  which  the 
following  are  extracts : 

"  There  is    an    officer    connected    with  the  penitentiary,  

by  name.  He  has  charge  of  the  hall,  and  takes  delight  in  cow- 
hiding  prisoners  for  little  or  no  cause.  He  has  many  pets  among 
the  convicts,  and  any  prisoner  that  he  dislikes  he  can  find  pretext  for 
punishing  by  sending  one  of  his  favorites  along  the  tier  to  so-and- 
so's  cell.  'Bring  him  down  if  he  is  talking  or  making  a  noise.' 
The  favorite  knows  what  this  means,  and  hauls  down  the  victim  to 
be  cowhided  by  the  keeper  until  the  shirt  and  flesh  are  cut  with  the 
lash.  This  done  the  tyrant  cries  out  so  as  to  be  heard  all  along  the 
tier :  '  Get  him  another  shirt  and  send  him  back  to  his  cell.'  One 
prisoner  named  Robert  Burns  is  insane,  and  Donnelly  has  cowhided 
him  until  his  flesh  is  black  and  blue." 

James  Shevelin,  a  very  young-looking  man,  is  the  warden  of  the 
institution.  He  has  been  in  charge  for  three  years,  and  is  a  good 
executive  officer  in  all  things  pertaining  to  the  personal  comfort  of 
the  prisoners,  and  to  making  the  institution  self-supporting.  When 
the  reporter  told  Mr.  Shevelin  the  object  of  his  visit  yesterday,  the 


95 

latter  at  once  offered  every  facility  for  inquiry,  saying  that  while  the 
fact  of  occasional  flogging  was  freely  admitted,  he  relied  upon  being 
able  to  show  that  it  had  only  been  administered  when  no  other 
punishment  served  to  maintain  discipline. 

Robert  Burns  was  sought  in  the  shoe  factory,  where  over  five 
hundred  men,  women,  and  children  were  turning  leather  into  shoes. 
He  was  moping  lazily  alongside  a  pile  of  leather  scraps.  His  life  has 
been  spent  in  crime,  and  twelve  out  of  his  forty  years  have  been 
passed  in  prison.  In  the  Auburn  prison  he  one  day  struck  a  fellow- 
convict  with  a  stone  hammer  and  nearly  killed  him.  His  record 
there  was  that  of  a  sullen,  insubordinate,  lazy  prisoner. 

In  his  next  imprisonment  in  Sing  Sing  he  was  concerned  in  the 
revolt  in  which  Keeper  Jeffrey  was  killed.  Burns  was  believed  to 
be  his  muderer,  but  was  acquitted  upon  trial.  While  undergoing 
a  short  sentence  on  Blackwell's  Island  he  escaped,  but  was  arrested 
within  a  month  in  the  residence  of  Dr.  McCann,  at  Broadway  and 
Fulton  street,  Williamsburg.  He  had  entered  the  house  with  the 
assistance  of  a  jimmy,  and  a  full  kit  of  burglars'  tools  was  in  his 
possession.-  He  was  convicted  and  is  undergoing  a  four  years' 
sentence. 

"You  have  an  easy  job,"  the  reporter  remarked. 

"  It's  what  they  set  me  at,"  he  replied,  between  his  set  teeth.  "  I've 
just  come  out  of  five  days  in  the  dark  cell." 

"What  were  you  put  in  there  for.''" 

"  Because  I  got  sick  and  said  so.  I  had  just  eaten  dinner  and 
commenced  work  when  I  got  a  misery  in  my  stomach  all  of  a 
sudden.  I  cried  out  'I'm  poisoned,'  and  asked  to  be  sent  to  the 
hospital.  Instead  of  sending  me  to  the  hospital  they  just  crammed 
me  into  a  dark  cell,  and  have  kept  me  there  ever  since.  I  vomited 
before  I  got  to  the  cells.  That  shows  I  was  sick,  don't  it  ?  They 
put  me  in  the  dark  cell  for  all  that." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  punished  in  any  other  way  ?"    '  ^ 

"  Yes.  They've  cowhided  me  twice.  See  here  ;  the  marks  are 
on  my  back  yet,"  said  he,  baring  his  back. 

Several  stripes  across  the  shoulders  told  where  the  whip  had  fallen. 
They  were  healed,  but  the  lines  were  clearly  visible,  although  the 
blows  were  struck  two  weeks  ago.     Baring  his  other  shoulder,  he 


96 

showed  lines  unliealcd,  where  the  thong  had  gone  deeper  than  the 
skin.  "See  there,"  said  he;  "they  fairly  cut  the  meat  off  that 
shoulder.  They  cut  the  shirt  to  pieces.  I  was  so  sick  that  I  could 
not  eat  for  a  day  afterward." 

"Why  were  you  whipped  thus?  "  asked  the  reporter. 

"  Because  I  was  sick  and  wanted  to  go  to  the  hospital.  I  have  a 
pain  here  (pressing  his  left  side),  and  it  hurts  me  to  work.  Men 
abler  to  work  were  left  in  the  cells." 

"  How  many  shoe  tongues  can  you  cut  out  in  a  day  V 

"  From  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and  thirty." 

The  reporter  asked  another  convict  working  close  by  how  many 
shoe  tongues  he  could  cut  in  a  day. 

"From  a  thousand  to  twelve  hundred,"  was  the  reply. 

"Are  any  of  the  prisoners  treated  better  than  you  are?  "  queried 
the  reporter. 

"Yes,  every  keeper  has  his  pets,  suckers  we  call  them.  They  get 
their  food  from  the  hospital  and  keeper's  kitchen ;  have  butter  for 
their  bread,  good  meat,  and  good  tea.  They  pay  for  it  by  telling 
stories  about  the  other  prisoners." 

"  Have  any  of  the  others  been  whipped  ?  "  ' 

"I  know  four  others  that  were  whipped.  I  did  not  see  them 
cowhided.  mind  you.  When  we  are  in  the  cells  we  cannot  see  what 
goes  on  at  the  other  end  of  the  corridor.  We  can  hear  though ; 
and  I  heard  blows,  and  heard  the  keeper  say  when  he  got  through, 
'Take  off  that  bloody  shirt  and  give  him  another.'  Their  names 
were  Bird,  Chase,  Cunningham,  and  Carmody." 

Chase,  Bird,  Cunningham,  and  Carmody  were  summoned  into  the 
reception-room.  Chase  and  Carmody  denied  that  they  had  ever 
been  subjected  to  the  lash.  They  admitted,  however,  that  they  had 
occasionally  deserved  and  had  been  subjected  to  other  punishment, 
such  as  short  rations  and  the  dark  cell. 

Cunningham,  who  is  in  for  burglary,  admitted  that  he  had  been 
cowhided.  He  said  that  he  supposed  he  was  whipped  because  he 
knocked  a  fellow-convict  off  a  bench  and  would  probably  have 
killed  him  had  he  not  been  prevented.  His  provocation  was  a 
fancied  insult.  A  keeper  had  applied  the  cowhide,  and  it  was  well 
laid  on. 


97 

Bird's  case  was  somewhat  harder.  In  the  fight  for  which  he  was 
sentenced,  a  knife  was  driven  into  his  right  eye.  Since  his  imprison- 
ment his  left  eye  has  been  gradually  becoming  blind  from  sympathy. 
The  surgeon  had  given  up  his  case  as  hopeless,  and  he  was  remanded 
to  the  workshop  as  an  incurable,  who  must  be  made  self-supporting. 
One  morning,  desperate  at  loss  of  sight  and  a  sense  of  injustice  at 
being  forced  to  work  under  such  circumstances,  he  refused  to  go  to 
the  shoeshop.  The  keeper  found  him  in  the  cells  several  hours 
afterward,  and  Bird  returned  insolence  for  tyranny,  and  the  result 
was  a  flogging  with  a  cowhide.  None  of  the  prisoners  could  recall 
any  other  cases  of  flogging. 

Warden  Shevelin  said  that  it  had  been  his  earnest  desire  to  do 
without  the  lash,  which  was  a  legacy  of  his  predecessors.  Bird's 
flogging,  he  said,  he  had  then  heard  of  for  the  first  time.  Cunningham 
was  flogged  foi  just  the  reason  the  prisoner  had  assigned,  and  he 
believed  that  it  had  been  well  timed  if  not  legally  authorized.  As 
for  Burns,  his  entire  inprisonment  had  been  devoted  to  unceasing 
efforts  to ''beat  "the  prison  discipline.  Soon  after  his  admission 
he  feigned  sickness,  refused  food  for  five  days,  and  clamored  to  be 
admitted  to  the  hospital.  He  was  admitted,  although  Dr.  Zabriskie 
could  not  perceive  any  very  marked  morbid  symptoms. 

His  appetite  improved  amazingly  after  admission.  Five  days 
afterward  he  was  missed  from  the  hospital,  and  after  some  search  he 
w^as  found  on  the  roof,  whither  he  had  climbed  through  a  narrow 
space  between  the  iron  bars  and  the  high  Gothic  windows.  He  had 
a  rope  made  of  strips  of  his  blankets  and  sheets,  was  provided  with 
a  jimmy,  and  was  evidently  bent  upon  speedy  deliverance.  Next 
day  Dr.  Zabriski  ordered  him  to  work.  For  months  he  cut  out  no 
more  than  from  20  to  30  pairs  of  shoe  tongues,  while  other  convicts 
easily  averaged  500  or  1,000  pairs.  In  July  last  the  contractors 
agreed  to  pay  seventy-seven  cents  per  diem  for  the  labor  of  each 
convict,  inste'ad  of  fifty-five,  as  theretofore,  and  they  refused  to  pay  for 
Burns's  labor  any  longer  unless  he  should  be  compelled  to  do  a  day's 
work.  The  surgeon  pronounced  him  physically  capable  of  working, 
and  it  would  have  ended  in  the  subversion  of  discipline  to  confess 
that  they  were  unable  to  compel  his  labor.  Hence,  merely  as  a 
measure  of  discipline,  he  was  punished  first  by  the  dark  cell,  then 


98 

by  short  rations  Frequent  repetitions  failed  to  effect  any  improve- 
ment, and  the  lash  was  used. 

The  keeper  is  not  a  man  to  whom  one  would  look  for  kind 
and  sympathetic  treatment.  His  manner  with  the  prisoners  is  abrupt 
and  dictatorial,  and  the  felons  receive  his  orders  with  an  abject 
humility  often  observed  in  whipped  spaniels. 

When  asked  to  show  his  cowhide  he  demurred,  and  would 
probably  have  refused  anything  short  of  the  sharply  authoritative 
order  of  Warden  Shevelin.  The  whip  is  about  a  yard  long.  It  is 
made  of  raw  hide,  curled  around  a  hickory  withe.  The  handle  end 
is  about  an  inch  in  diameter,  and  it  tapers  gradually  to  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  at  the  end,  which  is  very  flexible.  The  tip  is  frayed  as 
if  it  had  been  used  either  very  long  or  very  frequently.  A  very 
moderate  stroke  would  reach  the  blood  of  a  bared  back.  Swung  by 
Keeper  Donnelly's  brawny  arm  it  might  do  the  same  through 
several  thicknesses  of  clothing. 

As  Warden  Shevelin  entertained  doubts  as  to  the  legality  of  such 
punishment,  the  following  clause  of  the  State  prison  regulations  is 
worthy  of  his  perusal : 

"  No  keeper  in  any  State  prison  shall  inflict  any  blows  whatever 
upon  any  convict,  unless  in  self-defence,  or  to  suppress  a  revolt  or 
insurrection.  If  it  shall  be  deemed  necessary  in  any  case  to  resort 
to  unusual  punishment  to  produce  obedience,  the  convict  shall  be 
confined  in  a  solitary  cell  on  short  allowance,  such  allowance  to  be 
prescribed  by  the  physician  to  the  prison." 

The  use  of  the  lash  has  been  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
Brooklyn  Supervisors,  and  the  Committee  on  Prisons  will  sit  at  an 
early  day  to  investigate.     Warden  Shevelin  was  their  informant. 


99 

AN  APPEAL  TO  THE  PUBLIC 
By  Miss  Gilbert. 

The  whole  of  this  book  partakes  of  the  nature  of  an  appeal  to  the 
community.  It  must  be  remembered  that,  having  been  identified 
with  this  work  for  many  years,  prisoners  come  to  me  from  all 
directions,  applying  for  assistance. 

So  far,  this  work  has  all  been  accomplished  by  my  energies 
and  means.  After  having  expended  forty  thousand  dollars,  and 
given  years  of  my  life,  I  am  still  obliged  to  carry  the  burden  of  the 
work  alone.  Since  my  losses  by  the  Chicago  fire,  it  was  only  by  a 
great  struggle  that  it  has  been  kept  alive,  and  I  have  felt  with  a 
heavy  heart  that  I  must  soon  abandon  the  enterprise  for  want  of 
means. 

The  small  amounts  which  have  been  contributed  by  friends  have 
scarcely  paid  the  ^  expense  of  raising,  if  we  take  into  consideration 
the  loss  of  time  and  the  great  labor  attending  it ;  the  amounts  hav- 
ing been  seciired  by  individual  appeals. 

This  little  souvenir  is  published  for  the  purpose  of  starting  an 
endowment  fund,  as  well  as  to  educate  an  indifferent  and  unenlight- 
ened public  to  the  appreciation  of  this  subject,  with  the  hope  that 
it  will  reach  those  who  have  money  and  influence,  and  who  will  see 
the  necessity  of  placing  this  important  reform  upon  a  more  perma- 
nent foundation. 

A  national  fund  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  is  needed,  to  be 
controlled  by  a  board  of  trustees,  and  available  in  any  part  of  the 
United  States  where  it  is  most  needed.  Object  of  said  fund,  to 
furnish  libraries  for  prisons,  and  employment  bureaux  for  released 
prisoners. 

Are  there  no  wealthy  men  who  will  take  pride  in  endowing  a 
work  originated  and  successfully  carried  forward  for  many  years  by 
a  lady  alone  ? 

All  those  who  feel  interested  in,  and  would  like  to  contribute  to 
this  endowment  fund ;  those  who  will  act  as  trustee  or  appoint  them, 
and  those  willing  to  offer  or  recommend  positions  to  reformed 
prisoners,  will  please  communicate  with  Rev.  Dr.  Deems,  of  Church 
of  the  Strangers,  No.  4  Winthrop  Place,  New  York ;  or  with  Linda 
Gilbert,  care  H.  S.  Goodspeed,  14  Barclay  Street,  New  York  City. 


CONTENTS 


^^^©^©S!. 


Dedication  .  .  . 

Introduction 

Sketch  of  the  Life  and  Work  of  Linda  Gilbert 

Industry  in  Prisons 

Effect  of  Kind  Words 

Should  "  Jail  Birds"  be  Hunted  Down? 

James  Wilson's  Will 

One  Day  Solitary 

Self-told  History  of  a  Reformed  Prisoner 

Saved  by  a  Woman   . 

Epigram 

The  Work  in  Italy    . 

Justice  and  Injustice 

A  Prisoner's  Appeal 

Liberated  Prisoners  and  Repeated  Crime 

Penitentiary  Reform 

Prison  Libraries 

Good  and  Evil 

Hell's  Half  Acre 

The  Pickpocket's  Petition      . 

Behind  the  Bars 

Report  of  Miss  Gilbert's  Work  in  New  York  City 

Report  of  Miss  Gilbert's  Work  in  Other  States 

Rules  and  Regulations  that  govern  each  Library 

The  Outcast         .... 

A  Modern  Jail  .  . 

The  Night  before  the  Gallows 

The  Starving  Murderer 

A  Case  with  a  Moral 

Charity  ..... 

Criminals,  and  How  to  Treat  them 

Prison  Reform  .... 

Letter  from  Signor  Dassi  to  Miss  Gilbert 

The  Mission  of  W^oman 

A  Haunted  Man  .      . 

Flogging  the  Prisoners 

An  Appeal  to  the  Public  . 


